


Thicker Than Water

by Lynchy8



Series: Stucky fic [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Biting, Blood, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, He's wrong, M/M, Multi, Peggy Carter is amazing, Post-Winter Soldier, Pre-TFA, Rough Sex, Silly boys being silly, Stark Expo, Vampire AU, Vampire!Steve, Very Minor Character Death, bucky and steve in the theatre of war, bucky not putting up with steve's bullshit, in fact all your favs are bisexual, steve thinks science can solve all his problems, steve trying to do it all himself, typical violence you would associate with vampires, very very brief suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2018-04-29 09:57:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 85,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5123360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/Lynchy8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"In the autumn of 1940, a darkness fell over New York. From the Bronx down to Staten Island, stories were told on every street corner of something in the dark; something that made the hair on the back of your neck rise up, and only made your pulse slow once you had crossed the threshold of your own front door."</i><br/> <br/>As if Steve Rogers doesn't have enough problems, some seriously bad decision-making leads to Bucky finding him half dead and covered in blood in an alley way. Like always, Bucky patches him up, but there's something decidedly different about Steve. For one thing his heart, which had never beat quite right in the first place, now it doesn't appear to be beating at all....</p><p>But since when has he ever let anything hold him back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, gentle readers.  
> OK, first things are first - there's going to be a fair amount of blood in this. There's also a reasonable amount of violence and some small OC deaths. Also CW for nausea and sickness. 
> 
> If anyone would like anything else tagging please let me know - happy to do it.
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Bucky wasn’t sure what it was that drew him to the alley way. There wasn’t any particular noise, as such; no cry into the night, no sounds of a struggle. Perhaps it was just instinct (a voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like his Ma chided “lost Steve again? Oh dear, well have you checked the alleyways?”) but whatever it was, the entrance to the back alley behind their apartment building caught his attention. As he peered into the darkness, Bucky’s heart was pounding, not with fear for himself, but for who or what he might find.

It was a shadow; silent and almost invisible, bent over in the dark – leaning over _something_ \- and Bucky was sure his heart actually stopped because _shit, that was Steve_.

His body reacted before his brain had even processed that _Steve was on the floor and he wasn’t moving and there was a shadow in the dark_. With a roar, Bucky leapt into the alley way, not sure what he hoped to achieve, fists raised like so many times before; except this was different - this time it wasn’t some school yard bully or bar room brawl. He managed to land a couple of good punches, fairly certain he drew blood as his fist connected with what might have been a nose, sending the shadow back and away from its prey.

The shadow growled in surprise, and Bucky caught a flash of white teeth, bared and glinting in the street light. But then it was gone, pushing Bucky roughly against the wall of the alley hard enough to wind him. Out in the street a dog barked and Bucky struggled to take a breath, turning to the small pile of clothes on the ground.

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice caught in his throat as he reached down to clasp his best friend’s shoulder. He didn’t need the street lamp to know that Steve was covered in blood. But then Steve groaned, and Bucky swore it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. As gently as he could, Bucky gathered Steve into his arms and swiftly made his way back to their apartment. 

+

In the autumn of 1940, a darkness fell over New York. From the Bronx down to Staten Island, rumours ran riot that had men shaking their heads in bars, while mothers bundled their children off the streets. Stories were told on every street corner of something in the dark; something that made the hair on the back of your neck rise up, and only made your pulse slow once you had crossed the threshold of your own front door. Stories of babies snatched from cradles left by careless open windows; of men stumbling drunk from bars, never to make it home. Old men tutted and women clucked, while the loud and boisterous city retreated into uneasy whispers.

Brooklyn was a mesh of superstitions, from the Syrian and Lebanese down on Atlantic Avenue, to the Spanish and Puerto-Ricans, not to mention the Irish and Italian Catholics in Bensonhurst. Everyone had a different name for that prickle of fear that came with the dark; and just as many methods to remedy it.

When Steve’s Ma had passed away, finally succumbing to tuberculosis, one of their no-doubt well-intentioned neighbours had knocked on Steve and Bucky’s door. They weren’t there to offer their sympathies to Steve, but to instruct them both to ask Father McConaughty to sprinkle the doorway with holy water. This, they said, would prevent the spirit of Sarah Rogers from returning to plague her son with the same affliction. Bucky was eternally grateful that he had been the one to answer the door. Steve was not known for his peaceful disposition, and Bucky could only imagine how his best friend would have reacted to being told that his Ma was not actually at rest, but determined to curse her son into joining her in the afterlife. As it was, he only just managed to keep his own temper, assuring the woman that he would certainly make inquiries, and just hoped that she and Steve never met on the stairs so she could bother him with her superstitious nonsense.

Bucky had very little time for superstition. He was far more interested in science, splashing out on the occasional _Astounding Science Fiction_ if he ever had the cents to spare. He loved everything to do with robots and rockets and lasers. When his neighbours started to warn him against walking the streets at night, scolding him for not taking due care, he had scoffed like many young men of his age. There was nothing to fear from old wives tales, especially not supposedly blood-thirsty monsters. At twenty-three, he didn't give two cents for Aluka or Guaxa.

But then Bobby Trent, a welder in Bucky’s yard, had turned up in the Hudson. It wasn’t unusual, of course. Be it local justice or mafia, bodies turned up every so often. But Bobby Trent had a wife and a three-year old son and didn’t even drink, much less get mixed up in the sort of thing that ended in such a way. Bucky had seen the mob of people down on the dockside as Bobby was brought out of the water, heard the groan of the crowd as the cops tried to get some order and push people back. There were angry mutterings, and for the first time Bucky understood why the city was so frightened. Bobby Trent was young and strong, but now what was left of him was under a tarp in the chilly fall air. Bucky had gone home to Steve, shivering down to his bones, and now he also spoke in whispers, because whatever had killed Bobby Trent was not to be laughed at.

It was one Friday night in October when Bucky got home to an empty apartment. Since Bobby Trent, there had been three other deaths - two men and one child – in Manhattan and Queens. New York seemed to be on the brink of something, as if the whole state was holding her breath. 

That evening Bucky had gone out. It was just dancing; Bucky liked it – liked getting dressed up to go out, cleaning off the muck of the week, with a few dimes in his pocket for a drink. He was good at dancing, too, and the girls he took out were pretty to look at and nice to hold. He had a good reputation amongst their mommas too, especially for getting their daughters home on time and not trying to take advantage. 

The dance hall was quiet, and Bucky left early with his date, making sure that she got to her front door safely before making his own way home. As he walked through the familiar streets back towards his apartment, Bucky tried not to be too paranoid about looking over his shoulder. 

Steve was supposed to be home. He hadn’t said anything about going out, and when Bucky had asked Steve to go out with him, Steve had shaken his head, muttering about some project he wanted to work on. Bucky had made sure the blinds were shut before wrapping his arms around Steve’s thin waist and then risking a quick kiss to the back of his neck. Steve had snorted, shoving at Bucky without heat, telling him to get the hell out of there. Bucky had kissed him once more before releasing him, calling a careless goodbye over his shoulder. 

Steve’s work was still on the kitchen table, pencil set aside and empty mug in the sink. Bucky swore out loud because this was so damn typical. Steve didn’t have a sensible bone in his body and had clearly just wandered out into the night by himself where hell knew what kind of monster was waiting for him. 

Bucky didn’t even pause, he just turned around, shrugging on his coat, and making his way back out into the night. If Steve was out somewhere then Bucky had to find him, there was no two ways about it.

+

All the way home and up the stairs, all the time Bucky was stripping Steve down and tucking him in to bed; all the while he waited for the water on the hob to boil so he could clean and wrap Steve’s wounds, Bucky had but one thought. _Please not Steve_.

 _Please, if there’s anyone up there, please just not him, not Steve Rogers_. 

The rest of his body felt completely numb as he fought to stop the bleeding from the wounds (Bucky deliberately didn’t think about puncture marks) on Steve’s neck. It seemed to take forever, the shirt Bucky first used quickly becoming saturated. 

“Come on, please,” Bucky muttered to himself in desperation, knee bouncing in nervousness as he clamped a new damp cloth over Steve’s delicate throat. Steve let out a small moan, face creasing in pain. Bucky felt a wave of determination flow over him. He would stay there all night if he had to. 

Steve couldn’t die. Bucky wouldn’t allow it. Steve would die over Bucky’s dead body.

+

It took three days; three whole days of sweating and fever and delirium. In all that time, Steve never said a word, never opened his eyes, and it scared Bucky to death. He thought he’d seen the worst of it with rheumatic fever. Turned out he was wrong.

The only reason Bucky didn't call a priest was because he was terrified Father McConaughty would somehow know, would take one look at Steve and pronounce him damned and attempt some sort of... Well, Bucky had read the books. And there was his Grandpa who had told stories when Bucky was little, and he and his sister had hung on every word. Grandpa had told them about the vampire of Rhode Island who had tormented her living relatives until they exhumed her body and burnt her heart to ashes. Winifred Barnes had chased them to bed, and Bucky remembered her scolding Grandpa for scaring the children before bedtime. Bucky had snuggled down safe under his blankets, not at all worried about silly old stories.

Now it felt as though Bucky's own heart was ashes, sitting by Steve’s bedside and just… waiting. The marks at Steve’s throat were simply that; closed and almost healed, the skin shiny and fragile as though Steve had been burnt rather than bitten. As for the rest of his symptoms, Bucky had no idea. He pressed damp cloths to Steve’s forehead with only a vague hope that they were doing any good.

On Monday morning he had sent word to his yard that Steve was ill, knowing that his boss probably wouldn’t mind one or two days. He honestly didn’t give a damn about his job, could only think of the beautiful boy in his bed, not knowing if Steve would live or die. He could only wait and hope, sitting in the chair by the bed and holding vigil.

But then Steve had shuddered, had taken a last gasping breath and had fallen silent. Bucky started out of his chair, panic rising as he was certain Steve had just died right in front of him. A few moments of silence, and then Steve’s eyes fluttered open, and Bucky was struck by how beautiful they were. Steve’s eyes had always been a particular shade of blue, and Bucky didn’t realise how much he had missed them until that very moment.

Steve appeared to be the same as before; thin and pale, as though his skin was made of delicate porcelain, while fine blond hair tumbled over his forehead. There were shadows under his eyes, and the blankets on the bed seemed to swallow him up.

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky murmured, venturing a smile as Steve blinked up at him. 

+

It had been a long Friday night and Steve had been thinking about going to bed, having got about as much done on his piece as was likely to be achieved – and besides, Bucky would be back soon. Steve stretched, back stiff from being hunched over the table, before standing to go wash his mug up in the sink, which was when he heard a pitiful howling. The kitchen window, like most of the windows in that place, didn’t quite line up in the sash properly, and so sounds from the alley below filtered up. It was probably Mrs McCorrigan’s cat, locked outside again. The ginger tom had a terrible habit of bolting out of doors and then wandering around aimlessly, meowing pathetically.

It would only take five minutes just to climb down the fire escape and grab him. Bucky probably wouldn’t mind too much sharing the apartment with a cat for one night, and then Steve could take him back to Mrs McCorrigan in the morning. He couldn’t very well leave the poor thing out there by itself.

Climbing out of the window and down the fire escape was the easy bit. Locating a cat in the dark, was another matter altogether. Steve called, trying to entice the cat to him, but without much luck, and he was just about to give up, when something tremendously hard and strong hit him in the face and sent him flying to the ground. All the air rushed out of his lungs at once, and he had just enough time to think that he really didn’t want to die, not in this alley way, and that he’d never see Bucky again, when he felt a sharp pain in his throat, followed by the sensation of the blood in his veins flowing the wrong way.

All of that was just a blur of images as the world began to slowly creep back into focus, starting with Bucky’s face, and Steve felt an instant wave of guilt at the pinched expression Bucky only ever got when Steve had been particularly close to death. Everything hurt from the top of his head to the tips of his toes; his whole body ached, and breathing seemed to be a particular effort. But it was so good to see Bucky again. 

He was tempted to ask about the cat, wondering if it was ok and managed to get away from whatever attacked him; but then thought better of it. Bucky was probably going to kill him himself once he found out Steve was out there for a cat, of all things. He knew there had been stories, that the whole city was worried. But it was only meant to be five minutes, none of this was supposed to have happened.

Bucky ran his hand over Steve’s forehead and down his cheek, and it felt deliciously warm. Steve just wanted to sink into it, closing his eyes again because keeping them open was hard work. Bucky was talking, his voice soft and gentle, but Steve couldn’t really parse the words. Then the bed was dipping, Bucky was climbing in and that _was_ a good thing. That was a very good thing. That must mean Steve was doing better. 

Strong arms enveloped him; Bucky always was an absolute furnace, and Steve fit perfectly into the crook of his arms, boney back to Bucky's chest, and Bucky’s head resting against the back of Steve’s neck.

“You rest, now, Stevie. I got ya. You just get some sleep and get better ok?”

And Steve fell asleep thinking things couldn’t be all that bad when he was lying in Bucky’s arms.

+

Sudden bright light against his eyelids woke Steve with a start, and he couldn’t stop the hiss at the sharp stabbing pain in his head, before he jerked the blanket up over his head. He vaguely heard Bucky’s mumbled apology for brushing past the bedroom curtains as he tried to pull his clothes on.

“You sure you don’t mind me going in? I can send word to the yard, they can probably do without me for another day,” Bucky said softly, kneeling on the side of the bed, hand searching out Steve’s forehead.

Bucky looked down at him, expression tight and worried. His eyes searched Steve’s face as though looking for clues, and it made Steve feel exposed, like Bucky was reading his mind or something.

“M’fine,” Steve responded sourly, even though his stomach felt strangely tight and his ears were aching and everything still hurt. There was something else wrong. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. Everything was too loud in his ears and in his head, and he just wanted it all to go away. “Don’t want you to get fired.”

Bucky clicked in annoyance, as though Steve had some very odd priorities, but then he kissed Steve’s forehead, firm and deliberate. He left a glass of water on the cabinet and instructions to drink all of it before he got home. Steve promised, and Bucky gave him one last smile before leaving for work. As the door clicked shut behind him, Steve fell instantly back to sleep.

The thing was, Steve wasn’t fine and he knew it. It seemed ridiculous, but he wasn’t at all sure that his heart was beating, and that scared the hell out of him. Usually he was painfully aware of his defective and unsteady beat below his ribs, could feel it racing sometimes. But not at the moment, and if he pressed two fingers to his wrist, there wasn’t any tell-tale flutter beneath his fingertips. He supposed he should be more worried about that but everything felt very detached.

Then there was his breathing. It took him a while to realise, but breathing was becoming more of an effort than normal, and not just because of his asthma. He seemed to have to really think about inhaling and exhaling, and it made him feel tired. 

Drinking water didn’t help. He tried, for Bucky’s sake. He knew he couldn’t have taken in many fluids between today and Friday night, but the second the water hit his stomach he retched, only just leaning over to get the pot out from under the bed in time. He collapsed back against the pillows feeling sick and horrible and wishing he could just die and be done with it.

He couldn’t help the thoughts racing round his head, about how he’d been attacked and that Bucky had found him, had rescued him before his assailant could finish the job. But that didn’t explain the manner of the attack or the injuries to this throat. It didn’t explain the way Bucky had looked at him that morning, as though expecting him to say or do something more than grumble and sulk about being woken up. All in all, it was too much to think about, and Steve happily gave himself over to more sleep, because when he was asleep he didn’t have to think.

The clock on the bedside table said ten past six when he next woke, and Steve’s head felt a little better. The rest of him felt disgusting from having spent nearly four days wrapped in the same bed clothes during a fever, and so he determined to drag himself from his pit and have a wash. He took his time, not wanting to faint on his way to the shared bathroom on the landing. 

He was grateful that the rest of the building seemed to be mostly quiet, as he made his way slowly down the hall, wash bag and towel in hand, hoping not to meet anyone. He slipped inside, flicking on the light before shooting the bolt into place.

Maybe it was because he was tired and recovering from yet another near-death experience, but it took him a full minute before he realised that he couldn’t really see himself in the mirror above the basin. The rest of the room was there, with the hook on the back of the door, the tub wedged along one wall, but instead of his own face with its large blue eyes and gaunt features, there was just a vague shadow, like sunlight reflecting off dust in an empty room. 

He blinked a few times, leaning forward towards the mirror as though that might help. He could vaguely make out his outline, a sort of translucent golden glow in the air where his head was and a flash of blue for his eyes, down the pale expanse of his cheeks to his mouth. Reflexively he bared his teeth, eyes almost watering as he strained to try to see himself in the mirror. He’d been blessed with remarkably even teeth, and his Ma had always made a big deal about looking after them. His canines glinted back at him, oddly sharp in contrast to everything else. With a shudder, Steve turned away from the mirror. 

A wave of nausea crept over him and he sat down heavily on the side of the bath, arms wrapping round himself as his mind reeled. God, but this was a mess. Trying to calm down, Steve automatically tried to focus on his breathing. 

Not that it helped. 

In fact, it did the exact opposite of help because he _wasn’t even fucking breathing in the first place _.__

__Steve held his breath and started to count in his head, first to ten, then twenty, up to fifty, waiting to feel his lungs protest, waiting to feel pressure and panic in his chest because he wasn’t doing that thing that had caused him so much trouble over the years. When he made it to one hundred, Steve opened his mouth to draw in a breath, but it didn’t feel like relief; it felt unnecessary._ _

__An angry knock at the door brought him back into the present, and for a moment he thought it might be Bucky. It wasn’t, thank god, just one of their neighbours thoroughly unimpressed that Steve was hogging the bathroom. He made his apologies and returned to the apartment, already planning to leave._ _

__He couldn’t stay. He knew he was already a burden to Bucky and this was… well… it was something he couldn’t possibly expect Bucky to deal with. This was… he was now dangerous. God, what if he hurt Bucky? What if he lost all control of himself completely and accidentally killed his best friend in cold blood?_ _

__Steve checked the time as he pulled on a shirt and some trousers, guessing that Bucky must be working late to make up for the hours he missed yesterday sitting by Steve’s sick bed. Steve felt so damn guilty because all that time Bucky had been worried, he hadn’t known what Steve was, what he was turning into._ _

__On his way out the door Steve paused, thinking about Bucky coming home to an empty apartment, worrying about Steve and going out into the night to look for him. He couldn’t risk it, didn’t want Bucky getting hurt because of him, so Steve took up some of his drawing paper and wrote a quick note._ _

__It wasn’t easy, and Steve dithered over what to say. He needed Bucky to understand that there was no other way, no choice for them. Steve had never been a liar and he wasn’t about to start now, not about this and especially not to Bucky. In the end he kept it short._ _

___I love you_ , he wrote, feeling a lump form in his throat. _I love you so much, and I can’t risk hurting you_._ _

__He didn’t sign it, didn’t dare because you never knew who might accidentally stumble across it. Then he climbed out the fire escape and made his way out into the night._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes about chapter one: 1940s New York was a fascinating mixture of superstitions and belief structures. Vampires were believed to be people who had died of an illness and were now plaguing their families to die of the same illness - especially tuberculosis. 
> 
> The case of the Rhode Island Vampire in 1892 was just such an example of a vampire being blamed for a whole family suffering from tuberculosis. It was part of the wide "New England Vampire panic".
> 
> Concerns about vampires continue to the modern day, especially in Eastern Europe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _The world was full of heartbeats, thumping loudly and invitingly. As he made his way through the streets, sticking to the shadows and avoiding people as much as he could, it reminded him of walking past a hot dog stand on the days when they’d been really making the cabbage soup stretch._ "
> 
> Having left Bucky behind, Steve tries to come to terms with his new reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again!
> 
> ok, a few warnings for this chapter. First and foremost, there is a very short moment of suicide ideation. For a more detailed description please see the end notes. Also, the rating has gone up. There is also a paragraph that relates to the death of an animal. It isn't explicit at all - again, I'll put a more thorough description in the end notes for anyone who wants to make sure before they read.
> 
> my thanks to Sarah and Claire for being my cheerleaders, I couldn't do it without you.

The world was full of heartbeats, thumping loudly and invitingly. As Steve made his way through the streets, sticking to the shadows and avoiding people as much as he could, it reminded him of walking past a hot dog stand on the days when they’d been really making the cabbage soup stretch. He was hungry now, could feel it clawing at him, and it had nothing to do with hot dogs. But he also had a lot of practise in getting by and ignoring hunger; so he kept his head down and kept going. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, was determined to _make sure_ that he didn’t hurt anyone.

Vampire.

It was a ridiculous word, and Steve was sure that if his Ma could seem him now she would sigh in annoyance and tell him to stop being so dramatic. But what other words were there? He’d been bitten – had the marks on his throat to prove it – and now he was all… different. His body didn’t fit. And his teeth were sharp and he didn’t seem to need to breathe, and while he could hear the steady beat of every heart that went past him, his own was strangely silent.

One good thing about the whole situation was that he didn’t seem to mind the cold anymore. Being out in the middle of October with just a shirt and jacket would have had his lungs protesting in minutes. Not anymore - he wasn’t even shivering as he walked through the streets. He wasn’t afraid either, for what could possibly be worse than what had already happened to him? 

As he made his way down 20th street, Steve considered his options. He didn’t have any money so he couldn’t get a bus or a train out of the city, though he might be able to sneak aboard a boat. Although, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t certain he could cross water; he was sure that was something mentioned in books, that vampires – and that appeared to be the actual word he was using – being able to cross water. On top of all that, there was a far more pressing problem. A boat would mean close contact with people, and he was already hungry. He was really hungry, stomach almost growling with it. 

He had no idea where to go or what to do. Nothing in his life had ever prepared him for anything like this. But he wasn’t completely hopeless. You didn’t grow up as part of a single-parent household in Brooklyn without a few tricks up your sleeve. And it wasn’t all about having cabbages and potatoes six days a week, either. 

Mind you, Steve was fairly certain Bucky had been joking about maybe having to resort to cooking rats when things got really bad. Joke or not, though, it still gave him an idea. 

+

Trapping an actual rat was messy and more than a little terrifying. What was more, between the noise and the smell, Steve wanted to block the whole experience from his mind. As if that hadn't been bad enough, the entire exercise turned out to be a complete waste of time. Whatever he was, whatever his body craved, rat was not the answer and his stomach would never be the same again. Ever.

+

Feeling despondent, Steve wondered what the hell he was going to do. He couldn’t go back to the apartment however much he might want to, and he’d rather die than hurt anybody. So maybe that was the solution; maybe he would go find a nice place to sit and wait for the sun to come up.

That was one of the things mentioned in practically every book he’d read and every film he’d seen; sunlight was a killer. It was late in the night, now; dawn was a few hours away and the city would wake up first, people heading off to the market and the docks to start their day, so wherever he was going to be, it would need to be out of sight. In the end, his feet took him back to his apartment building. He deliberately used the fire escape on the opposite side of the building from his kitchen window to take him to the roof, not trusting himself to simply slip inside, crawl into bed beside Bucky and pretend none of this had ever happened. Maybe he’d wake up there anyway, safely wrapped up in Bucky’s arms and this would all have been a horrible fever dream. 

Maybe not.

The view from the roof of the sleeping city below was quite something. _Not a bad place to die_ , he thought. He faced himself east, sitting down with his legs stretched out in front of him, watching the sky grow lighter. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, which of the books or movies had it right. Would he burst into flame, or explode, or simply fade away, he wasn’t sure; but at least he would no longer be a danger to anyone.

The sky was turning grey to pink. It made him think of his Ma, reciting old proverbs about red sky in the mornings and how it meant rain. Sadness tugged at him because this was it, his last sunrise, and god, but he didn’t want it to rain! It was a ridiculous thought because he knew he wasn’t going to be here to care about whether it rained or not, but for Bucky he wanted sunshine. 

Even in the chilly fall air, the clouds were a burnt orange as the sun crested the horizon, and Steve braced himself for the worst. He closed his eyes, the weak sunlight hitting his face, thinking of Bucky and how much he loved him, hoping Bucky would understand and forgive him. Steve waited for something, anything to happen.

It was certainly warm. Not burning, by any stretch. He opened his eyes, looking down at his arms and legs which were definitely not turning to ash. After a moment of surprise, he realised that the books had it wrong, or maybe he did. Whatever he was, whatever he had become, sunlight wasn’t the solution to his problems.

Suddenly he was crying, whole body shaking with it, great sobs sounding loud in his ears, because _hell_ he couldn’t even die right. He sat there in the cool dawn under an orange and pink sky, head on his knees and crying because he was still alive and he didn’t know what to do.

When the tears dried up, Steve was left with a headache, staring out at the city as the sun rose higher, poking through the clouds that hung heavy in the sky. His Ma was right, even now; it was definitely going to rain today. There was nothing left to do but go back and hope Bucky was in a forgiving mood. He was stiff as he stood up, and he noticed that his joints ached. His headache which had disappeared over night was now threatening to return with a vengeance. So he climbed down from the roof, this time going down his own side of the building and slipping in through the kitchen window which, he couldn’t help but notice, Bucky had left open even though he must have felt the chill last night.

The place was empty; the sun was full up and it was nearly nine in the morning. Bucky had clearly already left for work, as his shoes and coat were both missing. Only the absence of Steve’s note from the kitchen table showed that he had returned the night before. 

Suspecting that daylight wasn’t as completely harmless as he had first thought, and suddenly anxious to see Bucky again, Steve closed all the curtains in the apartment before slumping down on the couch which faced away from the window. After trailing through the city all night, Steve was exhausted right down to his bones. He ignored the now familiar ache of hunger, preferring to sink into sleep instead.

The sound of the front door jerked Steve awake on the couch. He sat up just in time to see Bucky freeze in the doorway, gazing at Steve like he couldn’t believe his eyes. 

“You’re back,” Bucky stared at him, keys still in his hand, not quite moving all the way into the apartment. Steve swallowed; Bucky looked like hell with dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and a nasty bruise on his hand where he must have caught it at work.

There were other things as well, details that Steve picked up which he would never have noticed before. Bucky’s heart was thumping loudly in his chest, and Steve could practically see the artery in his throat pulsing. 

“I, uh,” Steve shrugged, trying to refocus and finding himself lost for words, still dozy from sleep. “I wasn’t sure where else to go.” It was an honest answer, at least.

Before he’d fallen asleep, he’d had a whole speech prepared in his head of what to say to Bucky, but all of it disappeared at the sight of the man himself.

“Are you staying this time? Coz I gotta say, this makes a rare change – coming home and you’re actually in the damn apartment where you’re supposed to be.” Bucky shot him an ugly look as he shrugged out of his coat, and Steve supposed he deserved that.

“I dunno,” and that was another honest answer, because while this morning he had despaired at the sunrise and felt that he had no option but to return, now after sunset he was acutely aware of all the reasons he had left in the first place. He opened his mouth, intending to try to communicate some of that, but was interrupted by Bucky who was clearly having none of it.

“Why you gotta be such a stubborn punk?” Bucky threw his bag down on the floor, kicking his shoes off in irritation.

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, rubbing his eyes and wondering how to even begin explaining himself.

“No, you don’t get to do that,” Bucky was really angry, mouth turned down and brow furrowed. “You don’t get to just disappear after I find you half dead in an alley. You don’t get to just waltz back in here after I watched you lying in some weird coma for three whole days…”

It was no surprise that the neighbours started hammering on the walls, causing Bucky to pause, eyes closing as he fought to get a grip on himself and his temper. He shook his head, sighing deeply, and Steve ached because Bucky was hurting and that was his fault. 

At the same time he felt his own temper flash. He’d told Bucky in his note why he’d had to leave. It was for Bucky’s safety. Sure, right now he felt sane and in control, even though the thud of Bucky’s pulse was driving him to distraction. But that didn’t mean he was safe to be around.

“Bucky, look at me!” he hissed, voice cracking with despair. He held out his arms, holding himself out for inspection, feeling completely inadequate. He had never been good enough for Bucky, had never understood what Bucky saw in him. 

Bucky told Steve he loved him, whispered it into his skin, kissed it into his lips, and maybe he did; but things had changed. Bucky might well have loved him as a short, asthmatic, anaemic guy with scoliosis and little chance of making his thirtieth birthday; but not this. Bucky had never signed up for this.

Steve cringed under Bucky’s unimpressed gaze, his huff of annoyance as he folded his arms, staring Steve down.

“All I see is some asshole who keeps trying to do it all by himself,” Steve’s shoulders slumped, and he dropped his head, unable to hold Bucky’s gaze. But then a firm hand was on his shoulder, warm and comforting. “Why you still pullin’ that shit, Stevie?”

Steve sighed, taking comfort from Bucky’s hand on his shoulder, leaning into his touch as Bucky shifted his grip in order to cup Steve’s throat, thumb rubbing gently at his jaw. 

“You don’t get it, do you,” Bucky’s voice was softer now, and when Steve looked up he saw that Bucky was giving him a small, sad smile. “You could turn into a wolf right now and I’d apologise for the lack of steak in the ice box. Sprout a pair of wings and I’d personally sew all your shirts so they fit you better.”

“You hate sewing,” Steve muttered, risking a small smile, gratified when Bucky grinned back at him, shaking his head.

“Punk,” he got in retaliation, before Bucky was enveloping him in a hug. Steve sank into the embrace, feeling like he was home and that whatever happened next, Bucky had his back like always.

+

Even before all this happened Steve had always been cold, a little block of ice folded safe in Bucky's arms. Bucky hadn’t minded, not really, although no one could blame him for grumbling when Steve had pressed his freezing feet up against him under the covers. And then the little punk would chuckle every damn time at Bucky’s howl of surprise. 

But as they lay tangled up together in bed, Bucky took comfort in the fact that Steve’s skin still carried the same comforting scent that Bucky was addicted to. 

Coming home to an empty apartment had been his absolute worst nightmare, along with the scribbled note on the kitchen table – and the only reason he hadn’t torn it to shreds was because he thought it might be the last words he ever received from Steve, and however angry he might have been right at that moment, he would never forgive himself for destroying something so precious.

It had been a sleepless night, tossing and turning in their empty bed. He knew what he’d seen in that alley way, couldn’t get the flash of teeth out of his head. And then there were the puncture wounds on Steve’s neck. It was all very surreal, like something out of a movie, and he supposed he should be more scared that his best friend, his Steve, was now apparently a vampire. But he wasn’t a complete jerk – he’d stuck by Steve through thick, thin and even thinner, and this was no different to anything else. He’d fallen asleep making plans of how to track Steve, the arguments he’d use to get him to come back home.

The next day, he’d dragged himself to work, still trying to get back in his boss’s good graces after missing work on Monday. Not that he’d been much good, due to lack of sleep. More than once he caught himself on something, lost concentration and ended up trapping his hand. He got yelled at a fair bit, told to get his head back in the game, and he tried; tried to focus on the matter at hand because injuring himself wasn’t going to help Steve, wherever the hell he was.

And after all that, Steve was at home. He looked like hell, but at least he was back, with his jaw set firm and his stubborn sense of pride, and Bucky wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss him or shake him. So he did the only sensible thing that came to mind; he suggested they sleep on it. Steve, typically, had put up a minor protest, before Bucky told him in no uncertain terms to shut up and get in the damn bed. He’d changed the sheets the night before, because no matter how much he might have wanted Steve’s scent to linger, the bedsheets were disgusting and if it wasn’t for the fact that he really couldn’t afford a new set, he would have had the damn things burned.

Bucky hoped they would settle down, Steve in his arms like always, and they could get some shut-eye. Every time he inhaled, Bucky got a wave of Steve’s scent, and he couldn’t help but press a kiss between Steve’s shoulder blades. Usually, when Bucky did that, Steve would let out a small sigh and shift back, pressing himself up tight against Bucky’s chest. But not tonight; Bucky felt Steve freeze in his arms.

“Stevie?” Bucky ran his hands up Steve’s thin arms in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but Steve jerked away from him, almost toppling out of the bed. Really worried now, Bucky leant over to switch on the bedside light so he get could a good look at Steve, try and translate what was going on inside that head of his.

Steve opened his mouth, probably to tell Bucky he was fine, and Bucky was going to have to start a swear box for that word because Steve was never fine – especially when he said as much. But Steve didn’t even get the words out. He was huddled on the far side of the bed, and Bucky could see he was shaking, eyes fixed not on Bucky’s face, but his throat.

Oh.

Quite a few things clicked into place then. Bucky had been so focussed on where Steve was and whether or not he was ok, that he mind had sort of skipped over that part. Which was daft really, because Steve had spelled it out for him in his note: _I don’t want to hurt you_.

Bucky sighed.

“You hungry, Steve?” he asked casually, like he was offering to knock together a quick something with whatever he could find in the kitchen. Steve jerked his head, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. “When was the last time you ate?”

At his words, Steve seemed to pull himself even tighter, so Bucky guessed he was right on the money. Steve, the self-sacrificing asshole, was probably starving. Bucky took a good look at him; in the glow of the lamp, Steve was ridiculously pale, eyes bright and red rimmed as though suffering from a nasty bout of flu. Bucky had flash backs to the days when he was convincing Steve to eat something, even just a slice of bread without butter, just to get something in him so he didn’t keel over.

“You know,” Bucky started, trying to sound casual, “I don’t mind if you want to…”

“Bucky, no,” Steve looked up sharply from where he was still sitting on the opposite side of the bed. His glare probably would have been a lot more effective if he wasn’t practically the same colour as the pillow on which he was resting. He folded his arms, drawing himself up in bed to try to look fierce, mouth set into a stern pout, and Bucky could have laughed because he wanted to kiss this precious fool so damn much.

The thing was, Bucky had absolutely nothing to fear. He supposed it might not make a lot of sense, given what he’d witnessed at the dockside when Bobby was pulled out of the water, or what had happened to Steve in that alley. But Steve was alive, and besides, Steve really cared about not hurting him. This couldn’t be more different than sneaking up behind someone with the intention of ripping their throat out.

Anyway, Bucky had a track record of making questionable decisions when it came to Steve; something that seemed to come from being ridiculously in love with the guy. If the worst thing that could happen was that he ended up like Steve, then at least they would be together and that was just fine by Bucky. Steve got into this mess; that didn’t mean Bucky was just going to leave him there to deal with it by himself. So Bucky set his shoulders, because he could be just as stubborn as Steve when he needed to be.

“You listen here, Rogers, if you think I’m gonna sit here and watch you starve yourself to death, you can damn well think again.” He matched Steve, glare for glare. He wasn’t fooling around about this. 

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, shaking his head hopelessly like Bucky couldn’t possibly know what he was offering, like Bucky hadn’t known from the start what he was getting himself into. “I can’t let you do this. What if I hurt you?” 

Bucky could see that Steve was starting to freak out - that all the worst case scenarios were running through his mind - and he knew Steve would never be able to live with himself if he actually hurt someone, but Bucky had never before felt so calm and certain.

“Steve,” and Bucky loved him, but damn, Steve was a stubborn ass sometimes. He reached over, taking Steve gently by the shoulders, and when he spoke his voice was low, firm and sincere. “Like I haven’t done worse. Like you wouldn’t do the same, if it was me.” 

Bucky kissed him, then, frank and earnest. He needed Steve, and if that meant letting Steve… bite him… then so be it. He felt Steve kiss him back, felt him melt into Bucky’s arms, and Bucky could cry with relief because he knew he had won. He knew that if the roles were reversed, Steve would be first in line offering Bucky the same. That was how they had always been.

They took a few moments to just hold each other. Now that it had been decided, it was just a small matter of sorting themselves out. Steve wriggled out of Bucky’s grip, looking up at him through his bangs with uncertainty.

“How are we going to do this?”

Bucky smiled, remembering a day a few years ago when Steve had looked at him in a similar manner, eyes wide. They’d been a lot younger back then; Steve’s Ma had still been alive, and Bucky had only summoned up the courage to kiss Steve a few weeks before – kiss him like Bucky had been desperate to kiss Steve since he’d been old enough to understand the meaning of want. 

The trust Steve had placed in him then had been practically devastating, and Bucky had made damn sure not to let his Stevie down. He made the same promise to himself now.

He guessed they should both be comfortable. Just start slow, not overthink it too much. He wasn’t going to be nervous about this. It was Steve, and he’d walk into a pit of bears for the guy. 

So he turned to click off the light, returning the bedroom to darkness because everything was easier when you didn’t have to look right at it.

“Why don’t you just kiss me, you can do that, right?” he said gently, shuffling down the bed so he was lying on his side. He reached out, gratified when Steve snuggled into him. He couldn’t help shivering when Steve pressed up against him – damn but the guy was really cold – however he held on tight, not wanting Steve to get spooked and pull away.

The first kiss was tentative and uncertain, a chaste pressing of lips. The second was a touch firmer, Steve growing in confidence. He felt Steve relax, just enjoying making out like they used to do when they first discovered that kissing each other was a great way to pass an evening. Bucky rested his hands at Steve’s waist, circling his thumbs against Steve’s belly, still soft beneath his touch.

Steve dotted kisses along his jawline, and Bucky couldn’t stifle his low groan because he loved the way Steve kissed him, how possessive he could be. He liked to climb on Bucky, straddle his waist, hands on Bucky’s chest to hold him in place. Steve could be real bossy in bed, and Bucky loved it. He surrendered to Steve’s touch now, letting Steve lead to wherever this was going, turning his head to give access to the sensitive spot just behind his ear, biting his lip so as not to moan too loud as Steve kissed all down his throat and along his collarbone. Then Steve paused.

"But, what if I…,” Steve’s voice sounded small and uncertain from where he was muttering into Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt you, Buck. What if I can’t stop?” 

It was a fair point. Neither one of them knew what was going to happen once Steve actually bit into Bucky’s skin.

“I’ll make sure you stop, pal. I promise,” Bucky murmured back, feeling determined.

There was a short beat of silence, and Bucky wondered what Steve was thinking. But then he felt Steve’s lips pressing soft against his throat. He gasped at the sensitivity, mind automatically blanking with pleasure. He felt his body react, arching in to Steve’s touch, felt himself getting lost in everything, and so he barely felt it when Steve drew back his lips and finally bit down.

+

It was like sucking on a cube of chocolate; or having cheese with salad. Or maybe it was like tucking into actual steak because Bucky had been saving up for Steve’s birthday. It had felt right and natural, curled up tight into Bucky’s chest, surrounded by that heady scent that went straight to his head and made him drunk. One minute he had been kissing down the corded tendons of Bucky’s throat, and then pure instinct had taken over and he’d bitten down, feeling his canines sink easily through skin, and his whole body suddenly felt warm for the first time in days.

It wasn’t what Steve had expected. He knew from enough busted noses that blood was bitter and coppery, but it was nothing like that now. There was none of the disgust or revulsion that he had felt before with the rat, either. It occurred to him then that maybe that had been like eating paper; it wouldn’t necessarily do you any harm, but you couldn’t exactly call it food. This, however, was a complete banquet in comparison.

Aware that he had become lost in his thoughts, Steve let go, pulling back to check on Bucky. He was aware of Bucky’s hands still holding his waist, and the guy hadn’t so much as groaned when Steve had first bitten him.

“Bucky?” Steve called out, reality suddenly crashing back on top of him like a load of bricks, worried that he must have gotten carried away. He automatically ran his tongue over the two marks in Bucky’s neck. Bucky hummed, eyelids fluttering.

“It’s ok, Stevie,” he mumbled, eyes still closed, but Steve was relieved to hear his voice. Bucky finally opened his eyes; they were glassy and unfocused, but he was smiling.

“You ok, Buck?” Steve asked, reaching out to rest his hand on Bucky’s chest. He could hear Bucky’s heart beat loud and clear. It had slowed ever so slightly while Steve had been, well, _feeding_ , but now it was back to its usual comforting rhythm. Bucky huffed, before wrapping his arms round Steve’s shoulders and pulling him even closer.

“Told you, buddy, I’m fine.” He kissed Steve’s forehead as though to prove it.

Steve sighed, relaxing. He felt like his whole body was buzzing with satisfaction. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was full, but it was the same feeling he used to get from eating after spending a few days stretching the leftovers while they waited for payday.

He was still worried though. Bucky might be conscious, but he was sleepy and quiet, and anything could happen overnight. It was just as well Steve had stopped, had realised that he wasn’t concentrating and…

“Jeez, Stevie, you gonna think that loud all night?” Bucky sounded much more awake now, and the annoyance in his tone made Steve smile in spite of himself.

“Gonna kick you onto the couch if you carry on like that, pal,” Bucky drawled before yawning. “Let a guy get some sleep would ya, you can freak out on me tomorrow.”

That actually sounded like a damn good idea. Come to think of it, Steve was pretty tired himself. So he stretched up to give Bucky one last kiss, grinning into the dark at the disgruntled murmur he got in return, before snuggling down into Bucky’s arms, feeling warm and content.

+

Steve watched Bucky potter about the kitchen, assembling himself some dinner and whistling cheerfully. He’d come home from work, grinning his head off because Steve was curled up on the couch reading a book, going over and kissing him right there in the middle of the apartment. Of course, the curtains were closed – Steve found he got a headache if the curtains were left open – so there was no danger of being seen, even from three floors up. Steve laughed as Bucky bracketed him with his arms, nuzzling into him affectionately, clearly in a good mood.

When they’d woken that morning, all Steve’s anxieties from the night before had returned; would Bucky be consumed by fever, would he be weak and ill from what Steve had done to him. Instead, Bucky had grumbled about having to get out of bed in the first place. He’d been careful not to knock the curtain, even though the sun was barely up, not wanting to cause Steve any discomfort.

He’d taken the time to kiss Steve properly, showing him that he was fine, just like he’d promised he would be. While a cheerful farewell, he’d told Steve to have a good day, and that had been that; like everything was normal.

Steve had spent the day trying to catch up on his work, grateful that he had been so ahead of his deadline. The piece he was working on was due on Monday, so he’d managed to make some good progress throughout the day, even if his body did ache where the blind in the kitchen didn’t quite keep all the light out.

It wasn’t painful exactly, just an ache in his bones and joints, like he was over-exerting himself. He was used to various aches and pains in his body, so he was able to work on without it bothering him too much. 

But now the sun was down and Bucky was rummaging through the kitchen cupboards in search of supper, while Steve sat at the kitchen table, chewing on his pencil, an idea for a sketch nagging at his brain. The silence between them was easy, comfortable, and for the first time in a week, Steve felt relaxed and happy.

Bucky said he wasn’t going out dancing, even though it was Friday night. His braces were hanging loose at his waist, while he shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he stirred enthusiastically at his sauce with a wooden spoon.

“At least you don't need to worry about buying food for the both of us now,” Steve wasn’t sure where the thought came from, only that his mind had been wandering as the domestic scene played out before him. Bucky rolled his eyes as he grinned back over to him.

“Oh yeah, coz you were eating me out of house and home before,” he drawled. Steve shrugged, smiling to himself. 

+

Later that evening, with Bucky sitting under the lamp, squinting as he tried to darn the hole in the heel of one of his socks, Steve gave into temptation and climbed into his lap. Bucky chuckled, setting down the darning spool and running his hands all over the enthusiastic boy on top of him, kissing him softly and murmuring into his skin. The stubble on his jaw was deliciously rough against Steve’s skin, and Steve wanted him.

“Missed you,” Steve murmured, enjoying how warm Bucky was under his hands, feeling the deep rumble of Bucky’s laugh. His head was clear, headache long gone, and all his senses felt sharp. Steve felt better than he had in days, felt alive, enjoying how Bucky’s pulse thrummed nice and loud. Holding onto Bucky’s shirt, Steve kissed him hard, coaxing his mouth open and sighing at just how good Bucky tasted.

It had been too long, in Steve’s opinion, since they had last done this. Bucky made such fantastic noises, keening up into Steve’s touch; Steve just couldn’t get enough of it. Straddling Bucky’s lap, he ground down against where he could feel Bucky getting hard, smiling against Bucky’s mouth as he felt the man beneath him move up against him. With a groan, Bucky wrapped his arms decisively round Steve and stood them both up. 

“Gonna fuck me, Stevie?” he growled, moving them both to the bedroom. “Got me all riled up, sitting on my lap, being a god damn tease.”

Once in the bedroom, Bucky set Steve down on the mattress before starting to strip off his shirt and trousers, kicking them off quickly while Steve did the same. Then they were moving together, Bucky letting Steve take charge, happy to roll on his back as Steve pushed him to where he wanted him.

Steve’s grip on him was strong and purposeful, pupils blown wide as he reached for the little jar of Vaseline they kept in the bedside cabinet drawer. Bucky shuddered in pleasure at Steve’s first touch, happily spreading his legs in encouragement because _yes_ , he wanted this so much. 

All the while Steve was preparing him, first one finger and then another, Steve was nipping and biting and kissing at Bucky’s mouth, jaw, throat and collar bones. Bucky twisted and squirmed, trying to bear down on Steve’s fingers, while at the same time keening to every touch, overwhelmed by all the sensations. He loved Steve like this, Steve trying to just _ruin_ him. It was addictive, and Bucky had to really concentrate on not making too much noise. No one needed the neighbours banging on the wall, getting suspicious about what they might be getting up to.

But everything was so intense. Steve was raking his nails over Bucky’s chest, delicious flickers of pain as clever fingers twisted at his nipples, and Bucky was groaning desperately because he needed Steve in him right the fuck now. He was vaguely aware that he was begging quietly, murmuring Steve’s name over and over, _please Stevie, fuck I need you Stevie, please, god, Steve…_

Then Steve was holding his legs up and apart, holding Bucky in place, surprisingly strong, and finally there was the delicious burn that Bucky loved, trying to shift to take more but Steve wouldn’t let him. Bucky loved this so much, loved being fucked, but this was new. Steve seemed to have lost all semblance of control, fucking into him roughly, and everything was sweat and heat and sensation. Bucky cried out as Steve sank his teeth into Bucky’s shoulder, then gasped in surprise as Steve pulled out, leaving him feeling far too empty. Before he could object, he was being moved, shoved onto his belly. Slender hands pulled his hips up, and then Steve was pushing back inside, and all Bucky could do was take it, pressing his face into the pillow as he hoped to stifle his moans.

They usually went a lot slower, Steve overly cautious and wanting to take his time. Bucky had privately wished they could have gone faster, even though he understood Steve’s concerns about his asthma – no one wanted him to start wheezing in bed. All the same, Bucky had dreamt about Steve just fucking him hard, but he could never have imagined it would be like this. His hands scrabbled in the sheets as Steve pounded into him. Steve might well have only been five foot four, but that didn’t seem to mean much right at that moment as he gave a good go at fucking Bucky through the mattress.

He felt Steve bite him again, but it was different this time. It didn’t hurt, but felt more like it had last night. Steve bit him at the base of his neck where it met his shoulder, holding Bucky in place with his teeth as he draped himself across his back and continued to fuck into him with hard, deliberate movements. Bucky shifted beneath him, wanting more, wanting everything Steve could give him. He reached down to take himself in hand, matching his strokes with Steve’s relentless pace.

Bucky could feel everything coming to a head, could feel his body tightening up as Steve hit his prostate more often than not. He felt dizzy and sensitive and so, so close to the edge with want and need. When he did finally come, he let out a whine as his whole body surrendered to everything that was happening.

Steve came, releasing his hold on Bucky’s neck with a gasp, buried deep inside the man beneath him. He leaned down to kiss and lick at the mark he’d made, murmuring Bucky’s name softly into the flushed skin of his shoulders. Slowly and carefully, he pulled out and rolled off, staring up at the ceiling as the frenzy receded and he began to come back to himself.

“Holy shit, Stevie,” Bucky’s voice was muffled by a pillow, and he seemed to have no inclination to move. Steve laughed, rolling onto his side to kiss Bucky’s shoulder. In a minute they would need to clean up, but for now they could just lie there in the dark and recover. Steve focussed on Bucky’s heart which was pounding loudly, but was slowing back to normal with every passing moment as he came down from his orgasm. 

“Love you,” Steve whispered, curling into Bucky’s side, suddenly clingy and wanting to be held. Bucky grunted, lifting an arm to drape it over Steve, who was already feeling noticeably cooler next to Bucky’s heat.

“Love you too, pal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide Ideation: Steve has a complete crisis of confidence and decides the world would be better off without him and decides to wait for sunrise in the hope that it will kill him. Spoiler alert - it doesn't work. And that's the end of it.
> 
> Death of an animal: Steve decides to try that long-standing favourite of modern vampire novels, the "vegetarian diet" whereby the vampire forges a life on animal blood. The poor rat in question dies in vain because in this verse animal blood just doesn't cut it. 
> 
> I did quite a bit of research into various superstitions about vampires across the ages, and then wrote this verse working on the basis that a lot of myths contain a grain of truth, and a lot of widely held truths are complete hogwash. There is a long term plan for this (the first 8 chapters are already written) so thank you for joining me on this.
> 
> Any questions please ask.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Life settled into a soothing pattern of something that felt like normality."
> 
> Bucky and Steve settle into their new reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there again.
> 
> Just a short chapter today. Nothing to tag as such (I don't think) but please feel free to say if you would like something tagged.

Saturday morning, Bucky made his way to the bathroom on the landing, wishing Mr Sparanzi, who was just coming out, a good morning. Mr Sparanzi just stared at him, frowning slightly, before grunting a response. Bucky shrugged his shoulders, it was early after all. But then he was in the bathroom and looking at himself in the mirror, and suddenly he understood.

He looked completely fucked. His hair was stuck up at every kind of angle, and the shirt he had pulled on wasn’t quite done up enough to hide the bruising on his neck from where Steve had marked him. He swore softly, leaning forward to press his fingers to this throat, echoes of Steve’s lips and teeth. He chuckled, feeling warm right to his soul. Fuck, but he loved being covered in Stevie’s marks, even if he was going to have to spend the next couple of days talking loudly about some girl who had really rocked his world.

When he went back to the bedroom, skin clean and carrying the light scent of carbolic soap, Steve looked horrified at the state of him. He burbled apologies while Bucky just laughed and kissed him quiet. He could take a few bruises and some funny looks if it meant getting to have Steve like this. 

It felt like a normal Saturday morning, like the last week just hadn’t happened. Bucky climbed back into the bed, determined to enjoy his day off. There was nothing pressing that needed to be done, no chores that couldn’t wait. Right now he just wanted to lie in bed and relax. He would kiss Steve until the frown lines were smoothed away. Steve getting a little rough in bed was no bad thing and he really wanted Steve to know just how on board with that he was. He ached a little this morning, but in all the good ways. Being with Steve like that had felt intimate and special, like the rest of the world stopped at the door, and in this room they were safe in their own little bubble, and Bucky was determined to hold onto that illusion for as long as he could.

+

Life settled into a soothing pattern of something that felt like normality. Between them, they worked out by trial and error that Steve could go between two and four weeks at a stretch without him getting really bad, and Steve took to marking formal “dinner days” on the calendar. But Bucky could always tell when Steve was getting hungry; his temper got shorter and he complained more of headaches. His skin got paler and paler, apart from the terrible shadows under his eyes, and he took on the air of someone suffering from a bad cold but without the coughing. Steve was such a damn martyr, refusing to drink early, even though Bucky said it was fine, that he didn’t mind. But it wasn’t any good, Steve would just glare and pout and say that he could wait.

They continued in the same manner of the first night, curled up in bed together, Steve seeking Bucky out while Bucky murmured quiet encouragement. It was tender and intimate, the atmosphere electric with anticipation, and Bucky secretly looked forward to each one, because Steve gave himself over completely to him, trusted Bucky with this just as Bucky trusted Steve. He felt needed and it never hurt, just a sharp scrape like catching the tip of your finger when cutting vegetables. Then just warmth and bliss. 

In the days immediately afterwards, Steve would practically be glowing. His skin was warm to the touch and looked even healthier than it did before all of this had happened. He was upbeat and creative, and Bucky would come home from work to find sketches and paintings where Steve had surrendered to his creative muse.

Bucky got the feeling Steve would be stronger if he stopped being such a self-righteous asshole and accepted what Bucky was offering. He imagined Steve would look a lot healthier, be less pale and maintain the illusion of body heat for a lot longer if he didn’t deny himself the way he did. After one particular row, where Steve had spent two days in bed, still refusing to eat because it was another week before the day marked on the calendar, Bucky had just thrown his arms in the air in frustration, shouting that only Steve would put up with being an anaemic vampire. The second the words out of his mouth, Bucky felt like a right jerk. Steve froze, eyes wide; they hardly ever said the V word, not in their home.

That day, they lay in bed together, Bucky stroking Steve’s hair, just lying quietly together, and Bucky found himself missing Steve’s huffed breaths, even though it meant he knew he would never have to worry about the rattle of his wheeze ever again. But the silence still meant Steve wasn’t breathing, and every so often the seriousness of that smacked Bucky right in the jaw; that was when he would begin to worry about the future. 

But before he could get too lost down that spiralling train of thought, Steve had rolled over to him, seeking him out and burying himself in Bucky’s shoulder. His voice, so low Bucky could barely hear it, whispered into the dark, asking whether Bucky would mind very much if he could just… if Bucky wouldn’t mind… before trailing off because even now, feeling tired and stressed and hungry and wrung out from their argument, Steve just couldn’t ask, even though Bucky would get the moon for him if he though Steve might want it.

But there were good days, too. Steve would even go out with Bucky to the dancehalls, joking that at least he’d be a cheap date with no need to buy him drinks. He still didn’t dance, still clammed up around the girls that Bucky brought round. But after the dancing, once the girls had been seen back safe to their doors, Bucky would sling his arm over Steve’s shoulder, laugh heartily and lean on him as they staggered back home, just two friends in Brooklyn without a care in the world.

Considering how much they had been hiding before - the lengths they went to in order to make sure no one suspected that Bucky and Steve were anything more than best pals and roommates - keeping Steve’s secret was just one more thing.

It was easy, really; Steve didn’t have any family to really notice that anything was amiss. When Bucky and Steve went to visit Mrs Barnes, they made sure it was in the evening, or at least at dusk so that Steve wouldn’t suffer too much with aches and pains brought on by the daylight. They always made sure Steve had fed recently, so that he was warm and his skin wasn’t any more pale than usual. Steve had always had a small appetite, and Bucky would steal as much off his plate as he could get away with when his Ma’s back was turned. The rest of it, Steve pushed round his plate before apologising profusely to Mrs Barnes who would always smile gently. He daren’t try to eat it, not wanting to really humiliate himself by having to rush out to be sick.

Food was a sticky subject between them. They’d found out pretty quickly the garlic was a huge no; it made Steve’s eyes water when Bucky was actually cooking with it. Then, one day Bucky had come home from visiting his Ma, had leant forward and kissed Steve without thinking anything of the meatballs he’d just had for dinner. Steve had cried out in pain, pulling away from him, and Bucky had been horrified to see the blisters on his lips. They’d used water to try to clean him up, rubbed soothing Vaseline on his cracked lips, but they were still sore for a few days after. Steve wouldn’t accept any of Bucky’s apologies. He said it was just one of those things. 

After a couple of months, the opportunity came up for Bucky to swap his shifts at work. The nature of Steve’s work was also a boon to maintaining the appearance of normalcy; designing posters and signs and taking commissions meant that Steve could work at night, when his mind was clearest. Now Bucky matched him, taking every night shift he could. They paid better anyway, and it meant he got to spend his days in bed with a sleepy Steve. 

+

It took Steve a while to get used to how his body had changed; his eye sight had always been poor, so at first he didn’t much notice that the world around him was more muted in the harsh daylight, whereas at night it splashed into vivid and sharp colour, especially if he wasn’t hungry.

Fighting the aches and pains brought on by the sunlight sapped his energy and meant that he got hungry much sooner than he would like, so he learnt to restrict his movements during the day. But at night, the city became his playground, especially when Bucky was out on night shift. His senses seemed to come to life; for at least three nights after a feed, he would be able to hear out of his right ear. His eyesight improved and his sense of smell was sharper. 

Steve kept this to himself, knowing that Bucky would only use it against him, use it to try to encourage Steve to take more than he already did. 

He would wander the city, enjoying the sounds of the city at night, enjoying the taste of the city air which no one could describe as fresh. But it was a certain freedom and Steve relished it. 

But it did get him in to trouble. 

When the attack had first happened, Bucky had been worried about everything that would change. Now that everything had settled down again, he realised that he’d been worrying about the wrong things.

This was far too familiar. Steve sitting on a chair under the kitchen light while Bucky tried to patch him up. It was Saturday night, Bucky’s night off, and he had been planning to take out Mary Gaskill. Instead he was sitting here, cleaning Steve up like it was 1928 and Steve was ten years old, not a fully grown adult who knew how to be more sensible about who he picked his fights with.

“I mean, jeez, Stevie, I’m not saying you had to kill the guy, but couldn’t you at least defend yourself?” Bucky slopped the flannel into the warm water, while Steve sat stony-faced, arms folded petulantly. 

“I told you, Buck. It’s not fair for me to use an unfair advantage. The guy was a bully, that doesn’t mean he deserves something like me biting him.”

Bucky bristled; he hated it when Steve referred to himself as a thing. Steve Rogers was certainly something all right; a smart-ass, a punk, a goddamn force of nature whose heart was far too big for his frame. But he was not a _thing_ , and no amount of sharp teeth and missing mirror reflections was going to convince Bucky otherwise.

But the guy had absolutely no damn sense. He had a ridiculously short fuse, especially when it came to people behaving rudely. Bucky loved him for it, loved Steve’s moral compass and absolutely couldn’t fault him for wanting to stand up and be counted, but there was a smart way of doing things and that was something Steve just couldn’t seem to understand.

And as for being fair! Screw being fair, Bucky thought. It was lucky this guy hadn’t come at Steve with a knife. As it was, he’d been beaten pretty badly by some asshole who had been harassing a girl at the tram stop. Steve had been walking home from delivering one of his commissions, had stopped to ask the girl if she was ok. The guy had told Steve to mind his own business, which had gone down about as well as Bucky could have expected. 

“Not fair on who, Steve?” Bucky snorted, setting the flannel aside and glaring down at his best friend. “If there’s a guy beating you up, you gotta do what you gotta do.”

But that was Steve all over of course. He might be an almost-immortal creature – a creature famed in folklore across the world for its viciousness – but at his core he was still Steve Rogers, golden-hearted hopeless case who didn’t want to hurt anyone if he could help it, but he would be damned if he would stand by when there were perceived causes to defend.

Bucky sighed. Steve was Steve and Bucky wouldn’t change him for the world, but he had rather hoped that maybe Steve might have at least garnered a bit of self-preservation after what had happened. 

Not so. 

“You’ll live,” Bucky pronounced, sitting back once he was done. He could already see that the lighter scrapes were healing over, far quicker in the spring of 1941 than they would have done in the winter of 1939, but that was another surprising side-effect of the whole… vampire thing. It also meant that Steve would be hungry sooner, and that would mean another row no doubt. But it was still better than the alternative.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve smiled ruefully, and Bucky knew that he was doomed. How had this become his life; spending his Saturday nights patching up his vampire boyfriend who wasn’t able to resist saving damsels in distress. 

This was their normal; they worked and slept and loved each other. It wasn’t perfect but they got by, and Bucky would have given anything for it to have stayed that way forever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring 1943 - Bucky and Steve go to the expo on Bucky's last night before shipping out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> I'd like to thank all of you who have taken a chance reading this and have subscribed.
> 
> There's nothing really to warn about in this chapter, I don't think. However, as always, if anyone would like something tagging please drop me a line.

_Spring 1943_

“Sorry, son,”

The registrar didn’t look at all sorry. If anything, he looked entirely bored with the whole conversation. Steve, his head pounding from the sunshine pouring in through the window, set his shoulders.

“Isn’t there anything you can do?”

He needed it, he needed that 4F to turn into a 1A; he needed for these people to look past his boney shoulders and thin chest, past the heart that wasn’t beating and the lungs that didn’t take in air by themselves, and just give him a chance.

It wasn’t just that Bucky was leaving, though that was definitely one of the things Steve feared most – that Bucky would go off to war and leave him behind. But the war in Europe had been creeping ever closer for three years and now it was on their doorstep, and it went against everything Steve believed in to just sit tight while everyone else did their bit. Not if he could help it.

They’d both gone down to enlist, that first time. Bucky got snapped up – no surprises there. He was just what they were looking for. Steve had tried; he was warm and pink of cheek having just fed the night before. He’d made an effort so that his breathing was even, though there was nothing he could do about his silent heartbeat, something that the doctor spent only a minute or so puzzling over before shrugging his shoulders because clearly Steve was standing there right in front of him with bright eyes and warm skin, and his forms said he had heart trouble and anaemia anyway; besides, the queue was several hundred men long so the good doctor wasn’t going to waste his day on a 4F with no pulse.

The second and third times hadn’t gone much better. On the third occasion they hadn’t even given him the medical exam, just told him to go home.

Bucky had gone off that morning having received instructions to return to base. He’d left with a whistle and a smile, looking gorgeous in his uniform, and wishing Steve a good day’s sleep. Steve had no intention of sleeping. He put on his coat and did his best to ignore the way the bright sun burned into him like the migraines that used to plague him. He knew it was a waste of energy – that Bucky could be given his orders at any time and then he really would have a problem on his hands – but Steve had to try, had wanted to give it one more go.

Today hadn’t been his lucky day, either.

+

The ten weeks of Bucky’s basic training had been hard. Steve had holed himself up in their apartment, staying in bed and conserving as much energy as he could to make himself last. Going out sapped his energy so he stayed in, blocked out the sunlight as much as he could. He stopped going out at night. Mostly he slept, and took on only the most basic commissions that would keep the bills paid. 

Despite his best efforts, by the end of the seventh week his whole body was aching with hunger and his head was pounding. He felt faint and ill in a way that hadn’t troubled him since 1940. By the time Bucky got back, Steve’s skin was grey and waxy, cold as stone. Bucky found him curled up in a ball on the bed, eyes closed and still like a statue.

“I thought you were dead,” Bucky said, much later when they were enveloped together with Steve tight in Bucky’s arms and a little warmer than he had been, but still far too cool for Bucky’s liking.

Steve wasn’t as refreshed as he usually was after feeding, but then he’d been so weak that Bucky had been forced to stab his own finger with a pin, pressing it to Steve’s lips in the hopes that it would be enough. Once Steve’s eyes had fluttered open, once he’d been aware enough to know that Bucky was there, then they had wrapped themselves around each other in their familiar embrace, Steve re-piercing the mark low on Bucky’s neck that had healed over to a shadow in the time he had been away. Steve had fed slowly, warmth creeping through his body. But even so, he refused to take too much, leaving Bucky worried and frustrated with the stubborn ass in his bed.

Bucky kept his voice low so the neighbours wouldn’t hear, but Steve could feel Bucky vibrating with anger and concern as he berated him for being such a punk and not taking proper care of himself and what the hell had Steve been thinking just lying there and letting himself starve to death; a nice sight for Bucky to come home to! It was strange but Steve needed it; he needed Bucky’s fire and fury, and so pushed in firmer against him, letting himself be consumed by it. 

“Don’t you do that to me,” Bucky said, finally running out of steam and voice rough as rocks. He had a hold of Steve’s shoulders in an almost painful grip. “Don’t you curl up and die without me, you hear?”

There was a change in Bucky that Steve hadn’t expected, not even from the letters he had received while Bucky was away. There’d been the predictable complaints about the food and the hours, and the running and climbing and cleaning and doing whatever you were told to, not for any reason but just because you were less than nothing at the bottom of the army’s shoe, and if they said crawl through a muddy hole till your toes fell off then you damn well did it and learnt to walk without toes.

Bucky came back with a different way of holding himself, a more assured way of walking. He didn’t kick his shoes off or leave his shirt rumpled on the chair. Uncle Sam had finally achieved something Winifred Barnes had only dreamed of, and Steve wasn’t sure what to make of it.

But the passion with which Bucky touched Steve seemed even more intense. He’d always been tactile – part of their relationship had always been marked by the boyish rough-housing and constant playful shoving – but now there was a new energy behind it. Bucky would frame Steve’s whole face with his hand, warm and firm, nothing like the gentle light touches from before. His hugs were all-consuming and his kisses lingered, leaving Steve tingling. When they fucked, there was a new desperation, a new force driving them both, and so Bucky held him firm and fucked him hard, begged Steve to fuck him harder, to bite him and mark him and own him completely, whispering into Steve’s skin, and Steve could do nothing, _wanted_ to do nothing but comply, to give Bucky everything.

So Steve lied to him, made promises he couldn’t keep. Having never quite gotten round to telling Bucky about his early failure with animal blood, he said that he’d just have to be responsible for solving New York’s rat problem. Bucky had grimaced but clapped him on the back.

“Do whatever you gotta do, pal. Just don’t let me catch you like that again.”

+

The movies had seemed like a good idea after the fourth humiliating experience at the enlistment centre. The darkness was a blessed relief from the sun, and there was something comforting about all these people around him, their little lives carrying on, hearts beating in the darkness. Sometimes he could hear murmured conversations, lovers soon to be parted, sharing a private moment in the back row; mothers and their daughters watching the newsreels with a stoic sort of pride for their men already on the front line, sometimes even clutching small children lost in their own nnocence and anxious for another Tom and Jerry cartoon.

It was real life and Steve found it soothing when his own life was so terribly out of his control. It wasn’t the thought of being left behind, or that Bucky was leaving him – he couldn’t give a damn about his own body or its limitations, except to briefly curse at the fact that, for all the movies depicted vampires as powerful, terrifying creatures with tremendous strength, Steve had somehow ended up with yet another bum deal, and a condition that had left him even more dependent on Bucky than before when it had just been anaemia and asthma and a heart murmur.

It was the injustice of it all. The way Steve saw it, his height had nothing to do with whether or not he could fire a gun. He watched the newsreels, watched the troops as they marched, one foot in front of the other, and he knew he could do that. He could do something, if they would just give him the chance because it was his responsibility. 

Maybe that was why he picked a fight with the loudmouth sitting a couple of rows in front. It wasn’t necessarily that he could hear the thud of worried heartbeats around him as the scenes played out before them all; the relentlessly cheerful music belying the fact that, despite making gains in Guadalcanal, there was very little good news to be had about the war. What the Allies really needed was a foothold on mainland Europe if they were ever going to get Roosevelt’s “unconditional surrender”. 

It might have been that the rudely obtuse man, blind and careless to what the rest of the world was going through, was just asking to be told to just shut up and look – really look – at the ugly state of the world at war and how men just like him were putting their lives on hold to do something about it, and the least they could damn well do was be respectful of it. Or maybe it was Steve’s own anger at the world and how it continued to reject him, focussed on one guy who couldn’t give a rats ass about the war, pressing on Steve’s buttons when he’d give just about anything to be involved.

Either way it ended the same; with Steve getting the snot kicked out of him in the alley behind the movie theatre. 

He wasn’t exactly lying when he said he could do it all day; he and Bucky had fucked the night before, and these days, more often than not, that would lead to Bucky presenting his neck and begging Steve to bite him - _please Stevie I wanna feel you, just bite me, fuck, Stevie_ – so Steve had done what Bucky asked, enjoying all the senses sparking while they moved together with urgency in the darkness. But that didn’t mean he was strong enough to do much damage, or fast enough to get out of the way of the guy’s fists. 

Of course Bucky found him. Steve didn’t need to ask how, it just seemed to be their way; as though there was a fine invisible thread connecting them. Bucky appeared and Steve caught a final glimpse of the loudmouth as Bucky kicked him out of the alley. Steve dusted himself off, taking a moment to put himself back together, before all the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Looking up at Bucky, there was nothing on the outside to suggest anything different; Bucky looked just the same as he had when he’d left their apartment that morning. But it was as though Steve could read Bucky’s mind; he just _knew_ Bucky had gotten his orders. 

All their time had run out. Bucky was going off to war, leaving Steve behind, and there was nothing he could do about it. They had one night left, and what could Steve possibly achieve in one night?

+

There was something electric in the air as Steve and Bucky made their way into the expo. Maybe it was the lights, or the background burble of happy chatter. Bucky was radiant in his uniform, cap set at an angle that he’d never get away with if his CO was around. But tonight the war was supposed to be far away; Steve could tell Bucky’s mind was set on dancing and why the hell not. It was his last night before shipping out after all…

Steve was distracted. The expo was all very well and good but it was too loud, too bright, the scent of cotton candy not quite overwhelming the engine oil and other chemicals from the machines on display. Given that he had so recently fed and his senses were running at pretty much their peak, it was all a bit too much. 

His date had made it quite clear that she was far more interested in being a hopeful third wheel to Bucky and her friend, and Steve just couldn’t find it in himself to mind. He was listening to the familiar thud of Bucky’s heartbeat, loud and clear even through the buzz of the crowd. It was slightly raised, spiking at the sight of Howard Stark’s flying car, and wasn’t that just Bucky all over. He loved stuff like this; jet packs to work and robots that cleaned your clothes. 

Then Steve’s attention fell on a sign towards the middle of the expo, its familiar stern eyes glaring right at him, challenging him with his pointed finger, and Steve couldn’t ignore it. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky’s voice was soft and light, almost enough to cover the hint of irritation underneath except that Steve knew him too well. 

“Well it’s a fair, Buck,” Steve shrugged, careless and not fooling anyone for a second. “Thought I’d try my luck.”

What luck; it was hardly fifth time lucky…

Bucky had that look on his face, the look that meant he thought Steve was being an idiot but that didn’t mean he was going to sit back and let him be an idiot all by himself. 

“They’re gonna catch you,” he murmured, pitching his voice low so only Steve could hear. “They’ll catch you and worse, they’ll take you.”

The hairs stood up on the back of Steve’s neck. It was a fear Bucky had expressed before, right back at the beginning when Steve had first suggested enlisting, Bucky had held him in the dark and murmured into his skin that he really didn’t want Steve getting that close to a doctor. _If they found out… or even suspected… if they took you away Stevie… I couldn’t_ … and Steve had just curled up closer into Bucky’s warm skin and kissed him because he wouldn’t let happen. 

So far he’d been lucky. He’d been banking on the fact that there were too many people, that they were too much in a rush, to bother about a pulse that was hard to find. And so far he’d gotten away with it. 

“Look,” Steve deflected, because it was easier than addressing the issue head on. “I know you don’t think I can do this…”

It was a low blow and Steve knew it, and just like he expected Bucky exploded, listing off all the things Steve could do, how there were so many important jobs that needed doing back home to keep everything running, but Steve had heard it all before. It wasn’t about the fight, it wasn’t about him at all. It was about doing the right thing.

Bucky was looking right through him into his very soul, face tight with worry and frustration, and Steve wished they weren’t in such a public place. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say, couldn’t even reach out to touch Bucky to ground him, to reassure him that it was ok, but it was just what Steve needed to do because he had no right than to do any less than his absolute best to do what he could.

The moment was fractured by a shout from Bucky’s date, reminding them both that the world was still turning. When Bucky looked back, Steve could see the resignation there, along with the regret.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” he sighed, turning to walk away and leave Steve to his fate. Steve was shouting after him before he could stop himself.

“How can I when you’re taking all the stupid with you?”

It was old banter, two friends who had been through more than anyone in this whole expo – including Howard Stark, probably – could ever imagine. But Steve couldn’t let Bucky walk away from him like that. Bucky turned back, shaking his head, before enveloping him in a hug. Steve tried to hold the moment in his mind; Bucky’s warmth, the scratchy wool of his uniform and the lingering scent of carbolic and pomade. Then the hug was broken and Bucky was really walking away.

“Don’t win the war til I get there!” Steve called out. Bucky didn’t turn back this time.

+

For a good few minutes, Steve really thought Bucky’s warning had come true and that he was in real trouble. First the whispering – that was new. None of the doctors had ever had whispered conversations before. Then he’d been told to “wait here”, and that definitely triggered alarm bells, and he began to fasten his shoes as quick as he could. Then that guard had stepped in the room and Steve was definitely sure he’d had it.

A softly spoken doctor with more than a hint of a German accent was not what Steve was expecting. And if he’d worked out what Steve was then he was keeping it close to his chest.

“You want to go overseas, kill some Nazis?”

It wasn’t exactly “hello”, and certainly nothing like any of the other questions he was used to answering during these things. Then Steve’s stomach dropped because this guy _knew_ that Steve had tried before and that he’d lied on his enlistment forms and _he was in so much trouble_.

“That might not be the right file,” he knew he was a terrible liar when put on the spot, but he had to say something, even though he felt like he’d been backed right into a corner. But the guy – Doctor Erskine, he said his name was – was smiling at him through his glasses as though surveying a favourite nephew.

“It’s not the exams, it’s the five tries,” Erskine popped the file down on the table, still looking at Steve as though trying to riddle him out. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

What could Steve say? He was caught and he knew it. This man could have him arrested and then who knows what would happen to him then. Besides, Steve was starting to notice other details; the man was calm, pulse steady and certain. That was always a good sign; if he said he wasn’t interested in the exams then it was probably true. So Steve answered his question.

“I don’t like bullies, I don’t care where they’re from.”

Apparently that was the right answer. Five minutes later Steve was walking out of the enlistment office not under arrest, not being charged with falsifying his papers, but with a 1A and what Erskine had referred to as “a chance”. He had no idea how it had happened but he could have punched the air. 

He wanted to go tell Bucky about it, but Bucky was nowhere to be seen. Feeling slightly dazed, the noise of the expo really starting to get to him, Steve turned up the collar on his coat and made his way home through the cool spring night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Claire and Sarah for cheerleading me on this.
> 
> In Febraury 1943 at the Casablanca conference, it was announced to the world that the final intention of the war was the unconditional surrender of the Axis. The main topic of of conversation at the conference was the invasion of mainland Europe and the first discussions of what would eventually become Operation Overlord just over a year later.
> 
> Next chapter we're going to meet Peggy :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So now, here she was in New Jersey on an army training camp surrounded by the very worst kind of American soldier, all mouth and no trousers, thinking they were something special because they had been singled out for Colonel Phillips’ attention. It was Peggy’s job to disabuse them of that notion throughout their basic training, and she had to say she rather enjoyed it."
> 
> Peggy's job is to kick Colonel Phillips' trainees into shape, but one of them seems a little... different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers
> 
> The usual warnings for blood in this chapter - it isn't graphic, but I thought I'd mention. Also, the mention of non-invasive medical procedures. Again, not at all graphic.
> 
> Thanks to Claire & Sarah :)

When Peggy had first signed up for the Strategic Scientific Reserve, she’d had a rough idea of what she was getting herself into, but she was somewhat puzzled as to why the Americans had approached her for her unique skillset.

She was given a general overview of their intentions by Colonel Phillips, appreciated his straight-talking, no-bullshit attitude, which was rather refreshing after all the her time with the Special Operations Executive, so fond of its subterfuge and misdirection. The Americans thought Science was going to solve all their problems and help them win the war. She had considered the files the Colonel and Doctor Erskine had presented to her, taking a sip of her tea before setting the cup down in its saucer.

“Well, that’s all lovely gentlemen, but why me?”

It had been a long war. She had lied her way into the Women’s Auxiliary Fire Service, despite being technically too young. It had been a harrowing experience, but she’d done what she had to do because she was damned if she was going to do any less. 

She’d clearly attracted someone’s attention, because by ’41 she was working with the SOE which had certainly been… eye-opening. The Baker Street Irregulars had dealt with the more unusual and unexpected areas of warfare, but Peggy failed to see the connection between _that_ and this new project. 

But the Colonel wasn’t one for hanging around or beating about the bush. He barked at her that she had come recommended but if she wasn’t interested then they’d just be going, thank you for your time, Miss Carter. And really, she supposed that the why didn’t matter all that much. It would be a great opportunity – possibly once-in-a-life-time opportunity – and she’d be a fool to turn it down, especially if they actually managed to pull it off.

So now, here she was in New Jersey on an army training camp surrounded by the very worst kind of American soldier, all mouth and no trousers, thinking they were something special because they had been singled out for Colonel Phillips’ attention. It was Peggy’s job to disabuse them of that notion throughout their basic training, and she had to say she rather enjoyed it. 

They were all so green; Peggy had seen a fair bit back home in London during the Blitz, not to mention some of the finer details of her workings with the SOE. These boys hadn’t the first idea about any of it, just had their heads filled with childish notions of shooting guns.

There was one man, though; he wasn’t quite as insufferable as the others. Phillips referred to him as “Erskine’s 4F”, a late addition to the project and source of much contention. Peggy found him interesting; there was something about the way he held himself like he was just daring someone to make a comment, a little ball of anger that hissed and spat like a feral cat. She found herself watching him through each exercise, wondering what he might come up with this time. It was clear that he struggled with the physical aspects of basic training, but he never complained or tried to cry off or excuse himself.

He studiously ignored and rose above all of Hodge’s ill-disguised bullying, and never made a formal complaint about it either. He was self-possessed and determined with a steely eye, and Peggy was fascinated with him.

So of course she noticed that he didn’t actually eat anything when in the mess hall. The others all fell on their plates as though it was the first meal they’d eaten in weeks and they were dining on the finest steak money could buy, rather than army field rations. But not Rogers. He pushed his food around his plate and waited for one of the others to ask him if they could trade it. What he traded it for, she had no idea. Not chocolate. And she was certain he didn’t smoke either.

At the end of the first week, she could see the dark circles under his eyes becoming more prominent. When they were out in the field alternating jumping jacks with push ups, she could see his jaw clenched in pain, his skin pale and waxy in the sunlight. And still he continued not to eat.

Nobody else appeared to have noticed. Of course they wouldn’t have done, all eyes were on Hodge and a few of the other typical 1A types engaged in their own pissing contests to see who could be the strongest and the fittest and the fastest. They really were unbearable.

Then Peggy had been lucky enough to be in the car to witness all their beautiful gob-smacked faces as Rogers outsmarted them all. While they all flailed and grunted, climbing the ridiculous flagpole (and Peggy could almost hear the dry comments her form teacher would have had to make about that particular monolith) Rogers had calmly brought the whole thing down without so much as a wheeze in an excellent demonstration of brain over brawn; although she doubted brawn had drawn any kind of lesson from it. 

Peggy had found herself smiling at Rogers as he struggled into the car, feeling a sense of kinship with him. But she couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t seem to be breathing all that hard for someone who had just been running at double time. Or breathing at all, for that matter. And it was there, in that car, with the thump of the soldier’s feet behind them as they returned to base, that Peggy suddenly realised what might be different about Private Rogers. 

Lying in her own cot that night, Peggy ran the possibilities over in her mind. Rogers didn’t eat; he was pale and seemed in constant physical pain when exposed to daylight. She frowned to herself, trying to be sensible in her analysis of the facts. She knew from the Colonel’s many complaints that Rogers had a list of ailments that ran to a full two pages in his file; it wasn’t unreasonable to expect that someone with so many health problems, that had been rated a 4F prior to his meeting with Doctor Erksine, should struggle through basic training. 

But Peggy was no fool. Even if she hadn’t grown up reading Mary Shelley, Sheridan Le Fanu and Polidori, she would be able to tell that something about Steve Rogers wasn’t quite right. 

Joining the SOE, sometimes referred to as the Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare, she had expected to be involved in a certain amount of unusual activity. At no point had she expected to be liaising with the French Resistance to try to contact the Parisian underground Vampire movement. Initially she had thought it to be some sort of code name, but no; there was, apparently, a whole population of vampires living in Paris, and serious efforts were being made by both the Axis and the Allies to reach out to them for support.

There had also been a series of meetings held after the Nazi Occupation of Norway in ‘40, prior to Peggy joining the SOE, to plan for what might happen if the Nazis somehow managed to make use of the Troll population. Peggy hadn’t realised that there even was a Troll population in Norway.

In between laying false paper trails and supporting those agents on the ground in Occupied Europe attempting to stir up resistance, Peggy found herself doing a lot of research into what she had previously believed to be fictional or mythological creatures of folklore, because while these tended to be nomads with no particular loyalty or adversity to the humans that shared their habitats, there were those who took advantage of the general disarray caused by the world war. It was worth being prepared.

And why shouldn’t there be a pack of werewolves in Epping Forest, with which there was a tenuous accord (“they leave us alone, we leave them alone, everyone is happy” was all she’d been told when a file had crossed her desk). And it was definitely best to be aware that at least six deaths in the Thames had been attributed to Kappas since 1940, which had serious implications given that they were currently at war with Japan.

But paperwork and research and liaising through third parties was all very well and good. In ‘42 Peggy had the chance to see all these theories in action when a case was assigned to her and another junior member of the team. It was supposed to be something easy, something to keep them busy and out from under the senior’s feet while they did serious war work. 

Blood going missing from the blood banks at St Thomas’s Hospital was enough to constitute “irregular warfare”, and there was a very real fear from those in charge (who weren’t necessarily aware of the accord with the werewolves, or that a Redcap had been found hiding in the Tower of London, or any of the other weird and wonderful beings lurking in the blackout) that it was down to sabotage from a spy network within the hospital itself. So Peggy and her partner were sent to riddle it out.

What they found was a very human junior doctor, caught in the act with two bags of blood in his pockets. With a bit of persuasion, he stammered and stuttered his way through a confession that they were for his wife; his gravely ill wife who was bed-bound and dependent upon blood transfusions for her life. Not believing a word of it, Peggy and her partner had decided to check out the doctor’s story, all three of them going to his house to investigate. 

What they had found there was not a frail invalid, but a very angry, hissing creature; pale and furious, teeth bared as she backed into a corner while the doctor begged them not to hurt her, and for her not to hurt them in turn. Peggy could still remember the sound the woman had made as she leapt out of the window and into the night, leaving her husband behind. Peggy, high on adrenaline, hadn’t been frightened, just enthralled. 

They took the doctor back to their headquarters for questioning, listening in fascination as the poor man spilled out the whole story. It had taken Peggy and her partner several hours and a whole bottle of whiskey to write their report.

With all that in mind, Peggy was certain that she was right and that Rogers was a vampire, or a closely related species. She did wonder if it was a set-up. Phillips had said she had come recommended; were they testing her skills? It seemed an extremely elaborate, if not dangerous, experiment; to bring an actual vampire onto an army base, even one as apparently harmless as Rogers. It put everyone on the base at risk.

She could be wrong, of course. There weren’t a lot of similarities between Rogers and the doctor’s wife. He didn’t display any of the superhuman strength of the woman back in London. If he jumped out of a second storey window, he’d likely as not smash to pieces on the ground below. 

Furthermore, it was quite clear that Rogers was not eating his way through the soldiers at the camp, and it was unlikely he had access to a supply of blood like the doctor’s wife. It was a frustrating puzzle, and one she was determined to solve.

As it was, she got her answers the following day. Just before reveille, she caught sight of Rogers emerging from the wash block. The sight of him stopped Peggy in her tracks; he looked to be at death’s door, far worse than he had seemed the night before. His complexion was appalling, and his movements were stiff and clearly causing him pain as the newly-risen sun glinted over the trees. She was just about to call out to him, to remind him that he was due in the yard in less than five minutes, when she saw his legs give out beneath him, and he sank to the ground like a stone.

+

Basic had hurt a lot more than Steve had been prepared for, which he supposed was his own fault as he hadn’t prepared at all. It wasn’t just the running or the climbing or any of the other physical exercises, although they were all causes of a steady ache in his bones as he toiled under the unforgiving sun. His body was able to deal with most of the tasks, but he knew he was burning through his energy too fast, and he would be lucky to make it to the end of the second week, never mind week ten. But more than that, Bucky’s absence was a physical ache inside him, as though he could feel every mile of distance between them, and it hurt worse than the sunlight that poured into his head.

Getting his 1A had been such an amazing relief because it meant he had a chance, a real chance, to get out to Europe and do his bit for the war effort. He was determined to get through it just by force of will, gritting his teeth through his body’s limitations. Because on top of everything else, there was the chance to be chosen for the serum, then Doctor Erskine might be able to cure him. That was more than he had ever hoped for. He focussed all his efforts on attaining his goal, ignoring all the warning signs until his body caved in under the pressure and he collapsed.

Steve had been thinking about Bucky as he splashed his face in cold water, reminded of the mornings when he would drag himself to work even though he had been sat up half the night with Steve and whatever illness was plaguing him at that moment, be it coughing or sickness. Steve was feeling worn through; his head was banging and every joint was almost burning with pain, but he hoped the cold water would be enough to get him through reveille. It wasn’t, of course, and Steve didn’t even have the energy to panic as the world tipped upside down around him.

The next thing Steve was properly aware of, was that he was lying in a cot in the medical barracks, and that he felt better than he had done at any point in his life. Someone had drawn the curtains, keeping the room dim. His body was glowing and warm, with none of the usual aches and pains. Steve felt panic clawing up his throat at just how well he felt, because that could only mean that his body had been given what it had desperately craved. _What had he done?_

There were only two other people in the room; Doctor Erskine was talking quietly to Agent Carter, who had presumably been summoned as his CO. Steve took in his surroundings; the crisp white bed sheets and neat hospital corners. He had been stripped out of his fatigues down to his shirt and shorts, and given the lack of restraints and shouting, Steve began to wonder if maybe he hadn’t attacked anyone after all. 

Then he caught sight of the bag of blood hooked up to a needle in his arm next to the hospital bed. It was a blood transfusion; he hadn’t lost control and hurt anyone after all. They must have decided his collapse was caused by his anaemia, and Steve almost wanted to laugh at the sheer irony of that, sinking back against his pillows with relief.

He closed his eyes, just enjoying how calm and comfortable he felt now that he knew he hadn’t attacked anyone. Even the ache he associated with Bucky seemed more at peace now that fresh blood flowed through his veins. 

“How are you feeling?” The clipped tones of Agent Carter’s voice brought him back into the room. She was standing beside him, eyes flickering over him as though trying to read him. Under that gaze, Steve’s mind went blank. He managed to stutter through an affirmation that he was feeling better, squirming uncomfortably under her scrutiny and trying to shuffle further under the blankets.

“Agent Carter found you collapsed outside the wash block,” Doctor Erskine smiled down at him from the other side of the bed, clutching a clipboard. “You should tell us, Steven, if you are feeling unwell.” There was a hint of reproach in his tone.

“Still,” Erskine continued, voice brightening, “a blood transfusion seems to have done the trick. Your colour is much better.”

If he could blush, Steve was certain he’d be red with mortification because surely his whole platoon now knew that he had passed out, that he’d had to be carried to the medical barracks, and he was sure he would never hear the end of it. By losing consciousness, he’d just proved that he wasn’t fit to be on the base and would probably be on the train home before the end of the day. 

“No need to look so miserable,” Agent Carter gave him one of her rare smiles. “You haven’t missed anything today that you can’t do tomorrow.”

Steve looked up to her in confusion. Tomorrow? He would still be at Lehigh tomorrow?

“Doctor Erskine was most insistent,” Agent Carter looked over to where Erskine was scribbling notes, raising his eyebrows in an attempt to look innocent. 

“You can go back to your barracks tonight, as long as you’re fully recovered. Which reminds me,” he set down the clipboard. “I must check your pulse.”

Steve gulped, feeling himself shrink back into the bed because he was just seconds away from being discovered. It was all very well having medical examinations by doctors who had better things to do, but Doctor Erskine was bound to notice if Steve couldn’t produce the heartbeat needed to support his otherwise healthy existence.

But then Agent Carter’s slender fingers were upon him, seizing his wrist, not even looking at him as she turned her attention to the watch on her wrist. It took every effort not to rip his arm away from her, all sense of self-preservation screaming at him to get the hell out. He waited for the pause, for the look of confusion, for her call over to Erskine to help her locate what would never be found.

“One hundred and seven beats,” Agent Carter looked over to Erskine, her face pleasant and relaxed. “Which is a little fast but perhaps to be expected?”

Steve couldn’t help it, he looked up at her, right at her, knowing that he was the worst kind of liar and his face must be showing all sorts. Agent Carter was lying to Doctor Erskine. She couldn’t have found Steve’s pulse because there was nothing there to find, which mean she must know about him.

+

Peggy was feeling strangely calm, centred and at peace with the world. If she wasn’t careful she was in serious danger of laughing, she was so happy. She had been right! Having her suspicions validated about there being a lot more to Private Rogers than his 5ft 4inch frame would suggest had made her curious. She wanted to know more about him and about his story, for he wouldn’t always have been a vampire. And what on earth had possessed him to almost starve himself into a state of hibernation.

She knew that by pretending to take his pulse, he would know that she was aware of his situation, and she was anxious to put his mind at rest, not wanting a repeat of the scenes with the doctor’s wife in London. From her grip on his wrist, she could feel Rogers tense, but he showed no sign of panic, or of lashing out in fear. If anything, he stilled completely, not even remembering to keep up the pretence of breathing.

Erskine bumbled about the room, making notes and talking pleasantly about how the blood transfusion was certainly an effective method of dealing with anaemia, and how “Steven” should be back on his feet and able to complete his training in no time at all. All the while, Peggy stood by Rogers’ bed, waiting patiently for Erskine to leave so she could talk to him properly. Finally, a messenger turned up requesting Erskine to go to Colonel Phillips’ tent, and Erskine wished them farewell. To her surprise, Peggy heard Rogers exhale from the bed beside her.

“You might want to remember to breathe a little more often than that,” she said, not beating about the bush. Rogers looked at her uncertainly, mouth drawn into the same stubborn line she was used to seeing out on the training field. Peggy felt a wave of affection for him, despite his circumstance, and she couldn’t help but smile as she sat down beside his bed.

“Doctor Erskine doesn’t know. Or, if he does know, he’s doing a very good impression of someone who doesn’t. So your secret is safe with me,” Peggy kept her voice low, knowing full well that walls had ears. Rogers looked down at his hands which were folded neatly on his lap.

“Thank you,” he muttered quietly to his hands. “Though I’m not sure why you wouldn’t tell someone.”

Peggy considered this, head on one side. She supposed that she really ought to have told someone that there was a vampire on their army base. But then, who would believe her? Back in London, outside the SOE there was no one who would believe her army work so far. A second report into the incident at St Thomas’s had been put together to pacify the powers-that-be, because there was enough trouble with Nazis running around, without the public worrying about the monsters under the bed as well. 

“Well,” she straightened in her chair, hands on her knees, “you could have eaten your way through half the men on this base, or maybe you’re saving yourself for battles, hoping no one would notice a few Germans with their throats ripped out.” Rogers didn’t look too impressed with that thought, face pulled up in distaste, and she felt herself softening even more towards him. “But I trust Doctor Erskine and he seems to think very highly of you.”

“How’d you find out?” Rogers didn’t seem to have heard her, focussed on his own thoughts. He looked up at her with deep blue eyes through his blond fringe. She couldn’t help but chuckle because really, he wasn’t at all subtle. Everyone else round here may be unable to see past the end of their noses, but Peggy paid attention to the world around her. Plus, it helped that he wasn’t the first of his kind that she came across.

Those blue eyes grew round as saucers as she explained. He was still holding back, shoulders hunched and uncertain in her company, stuttering over his words like he wasn’t used to talking about it, but he was beginning to relax with her easy conversation, so Peggy decided to brave a personal question.

“So, how did this happen to you?”

+

It was a relief to talk about it, in a way, to acknowledge that it had happened. It had been his secret with Bucky for so long, and they had never talked about it. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but Agent Carter didn’t patronise him, or try to interrupt. She sat neatly in the chair by his bed, hands clasped in her lap and listening with rapt attention. 

As he talked, he couldn’t help but sneak glances at her. Agent Carter really was lovely. There was something about her that made Steve think of Bucky; something about the playful sharpness in her eyes. Steve had liked her almost at once, respecting her no-shit attitude. He knew their English Allies had been fighting the war for longer than they had, and could only imagine all the things Agent Carter must have seen in the past four years. And seeing her lay Hodge out in the mud had been pretty fantastic as well.

She could have just turned him over to Colonel Phillips, had Steve kicked out of the programme. Or worse, all Bucky’s fears of Steve being taken and experimented on might come to fruition after all. He was entirely in her hands, and yet here they were, sitting in the medical barracks talking about Steve’s attack and subsequent transformation like they were discussing his bout of rheumatic fever. 

He told her about the autumn of 1940, the shadow in the dark, and how Bucky had saved him. Unconsciously, he rubbed at his chest where Bucky’s absence hurt the most, a constant ache that he was only peripherally aware of. 

“So they just left you?” Agent Carter looked appalled. “Left you to just muddle your way through as best you could?”

Steve shrugged. Such was his lot. He’d done ok, with Bucky’s help. He hadn’t really thought about the vampire that had attacked him, or what had become of them. There hadn’t been any other attacks in New York after Steve, so they had assumed whoever it was had moved on elsewhere. 

+

He had no mentor. Peggy was astounded by the young man in the bed before her, talking so calmly about being attacked and left for dead on the streets of New York; being rescued by his best friend – and she didn’t miss the pause, or the way his eyes seemed to flick to the horizon when mentioning that Best Friend – and how between the two of them they had coped with their new reality.

She had no doubt that she was receiving the abridged version, that Steve was holding back a fair amount of detail as he spoke about the last three years, but she felt privileged to be hearing even part of the story, that Steve was sharing anything with her.

The doctor in London, broken at the sudden departure of his wife and knowing that his life as he knew it was pretty much over, had told them everything about their relationship. She had told him she had been “born” in the previous century, in Greece. Not a vampire, as such, but one of the Lamiae. She had travelled to England with her companion just before the Great War. At some point there had been an argument, and the two had parted ways. But at least, for a time, she’d had someone to show her how to survive. 

Rogers had been alone. He could so easily have chosen the easy route, given in to his nature, or just given up. Instead, he had shown remarkable restraint and resourcefulness. Peggy couldn’t help but admire him for that.

But she was also incredulous. 

“So, what was your plan?” she asked, pouring herself a cup of water from the untouched jug by Steve’s bed. “‘Bucky’ enlisted and you were left behind. Surely you must have had some idea of what you were going to do?”

Steve pulled a face, fiddling with his fingers and _good lord_ , but it dawned on her that he really hadn’t got a bloody clue. He was making it up as he went along, getting on through with sheer will and stubbornness. Unbelievable.

“Well,” she sighed, standing up because she couldn’t very well stay seated and calm after such a revelation. “At least now we have something to work with. Every other evening you will report to the medical barracks for a blood transfusion.”

Steve opened his mouth, as though about to object, but Peggy smoothly spoke over him because she wasn’t going to have a needless repeat performance of this, and she told him so. Steve snapped his mouth shut. The other men on this base got their daily rations, it was only fair that Steve got his; it wasn’t exactly fair that the army hadn’t been catering for his dietary requirements. Peggy couldn’t help but smile at the dumbfounded look on Steve’s face.

Peggy knew Erskine’s mind was pretty much made up about who he wanted for Project Rebirth, he just had to win over the Colonel. She was going to make damn sure Steve made it through Basic training without another episode because Erskine was right; Steve Rogers was a good man, and he deserved his chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, a few notes for you...
> 
> Kappas: Japanese water creatures, with behaviour that ranges from the troublesome to the malevolent, including drowning people in their rivers and lakes.
> 
> Lamiae : originally a greek child-eating demon, associated with vampire folklore.
> 
> Did you know the first blood transfusion was in 1818? The theory had been there since the 17th. It all got a lot safer in the 20th century once they worked out the separate blood groups. The first blood donor service was established in 1921 and the term "blood bank" has been in use since 1937.
> 
> The SOE is one of those bits of military history that makes you realise why people believe in conspiracy theories. Probably their most famous feat was Operation Mincemeat where they arranged for a dead body to be strategically placed in allegedly neutral (but with distinct nazi sympathies) territory... and that the body would just-so-happen to have on it papers that revealed the Allies intention to invade Greece and Sardinia in 1943 (when in fact they were planning to invade Italy through Sicily). The plan worked and the Germans were fooled. Given how resourceful Peggy is, not to mention how relaxed about the whole Operation Rebirth, I definitely think she was with the SOE before being snatched up by the SSR.
> 
> If you like what you see so far, I'd be grateful if you'd let me know. Us authors have a fair amount in common with vampires - without humans they'd starve to death, while without readers we may as well turn to stone :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve - thanks to Peggy - survives the rest of his training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again
> 
> a quick thank you to the lovely people leaving kudos and comments - especially the comments. It's great to hear from you :)
> 
> I don't think there are any warnings for this chapter.

Steve found that the next couple of weeks were made considerably easier by Agent Carter’s insistence that he feed every other day. The sun still burnt through him, right to his joints, but the dizziness was easier to deal with, as were the tasks they had him complete. Agent Carter - who after three sessions insisted Steve call her Peggy, only for those informal twenty or so minutes while she hooked him up to a cannula – filled him in on why the sun made everything ache, but didn’t burn him to a crisp like Steve had expected. The theory went that, just as locking a human in a dark cupboard with no sunlight would lead to all sorts of illnesses, so subjecting a vampire to direct sunlight seemed to make them sick, attacking the joints and making them seize up. With prolonged exposure he would, eventually, turn to stone. Or so the stories said. 

After that, Peggy used their time to try to give Steve as much information as she could, considering that she only had the basic information gleaned from her time at the SOE and was by no means an expert. A lot of it, such as the garlic, Steve was already aware of. Other things, including the perils of sterling silver, were entirely new. Not that Steve had been in the habit of using silver cutlery, and there was certainly nothing like that loitering around an army base. The aluminium of his dog tags was quite safe. Also, Steve was quietly confident that he didn’t have much to fear from snakes in New Jersey, but he took the point on board that his body required blood to survive and that he was just as susceptible to snake venom as humans.

“Of course it’s all speculation, really,” Peggy had said bracingly, sitting down on the side of the bed while another pint slowly made its way down the tube and into his arm. Steve briefly wondered if the person who had donated it would mind very much at how it was being used.

“I don’t know about here, but there isn’t much of a vampire community in England, just a few nomads that we’re vaguely aware of. There are a couple of larger gatherings in France, and I believe in Germany too. But surprisingly they don’t seem too keen to meet up with our “experts” and enlighten us of truth compared to folklore.”

Peggy gave him one of her rare smiles, glancing up to make sure all the tubes were set right. It wasn’t something Steve had ever really considered; that there might be other people like himself out there, living their lives quite happily under the noses of unsuspecting humans. 

Steve quite enjoyed his trips to the medical barracks. He got used to Peggy’s heartbeat, steady and patient, distinct from Bucky’s own strong beat, and slightly faster. Her scent was different, too; lighter with just a delicate hint of floral mixed with the stickiness of her lipstick. 

It was easy to mask the true reason for his visits to the medical barracks; after all it wasn’t hard for everyone to believe that he had been ordered to have regular check-ups to make sure he didn’t actually drop dead on the base. The process was quick and simple, warmth spreading up his arm and across his body whilst they chatted, and not always about what Peggy charmingly referred to as Steve’s “condition”. It was pleasant and familiar, though not anything like the intimacy he’d shared with Bucky. He couldn’t help but miss Bucky’s arms around him, the way he was wrapped in his scent, lost in the thrum of Bucky’s heartbeat. But all the same, definitely the high point of his days.

Steve knew the training was coming to an end. Even if he wasn’t chosen for Erskine’s serum – a possibility Steve was trying not to think about – at least he now had a plan to survive the rest of the war, and that was thanks to Peggy. It was unlikely he would ever be sent to the front, but he was the property of the US Army. As long as there was a standing instruction for regular blood transfusions to combat his “anaemia” then there was at least the hope that he could be useful to the war effort.

Summer was coming up fast, and the long days out in the sunshine were taking their toll. Push-ups and jumping jacks in the yard seemed to be a particular favourite way to pass the time before evening roll call. Steve was almost too busy forcing his arms to straighten and bend, lifting his body up and down in his own personal attempt at a push-up, to notice that the Colonel and Erskine were doing the rounds, heads together as they inspected the men up for consideration. They’d already been on a ten mile hike in full kit, not to mention a couple of hours at the shooting range. He was very much looking forward to his appointment with the IV and blood bag later on. 

“Up!” Agent Carter called - and she was most definitely Agent Carter out here in the dust of the training yard. They all sprang up, ready to start up again with the jumping jacks. Steve tried to keep his form, head up and back straight. The regular transfusions had improved his colour so he no longer appeared waxy and pale. He hoped it might all help in his favour, desperate to be chosen. And oh! If he should be chosen…

Steve was jerked out of his daydreams by the Colonel’s sharp shout, and a small green item rolled into the centre of the platoon still waving their arms and legs. There was instant chaos, men scattering in all directions, and all Steve could think was that Agent Carter was standing right there. His body seemed to move all by itself; there was never any other consideration. He jumped on top of the grenade, curling up tight on top of it, closing his eyes and waiting for the inevitable. His thoughts flashed to Bucky, his only sense of regret that he wouldn’t get to kiss him one last time.

His final moments seemed to stretch on for an uncomfortable amount of time, although he couldn’t really count himself as an expert on how soon a grenade should go off. Cracking an eye, he stared up to where Agent Carter was standing in front of him, having ignored his cries to stay back. Behind her, Erskine was beaming. Word began to spread that the grenade was a dummy, and slowly the rest of his platoon began to emerge from where they had sought cover.

Steve sat up, his panic subsiding, looking in confusion between Agent Carter, Erskine and the Colonel. It dawned on him that it was just another one of their tests; and between Agent Carter’s smirk, Erskine’s broad smile and the Colonel’s harrumph before storming off, he couldn’t tell whether he’d actually passed or not.

But that night, when he went to the medical barracks, Agent Carter wasn’t there. Instead he was greeted by Erskine and Phillips, the former almost bouncing on the balls of his feet, the latter looking hacked off but resigned. There was to be no pint of blood that night because, as he was informed, the selection process was over.

“Congratulations, Rogers,” Phillips glared at him, his tone reflecting the complete opposite of the sentiment of his words. Nodding gruffly, he left them to it.

Steve sat down heavily on one of the cots, relief taking his legs out from under him. He’d actually done it. Tomorrow he would be taken from Lehigh for the procedure and whatever that entailed. He was getting the serum. 

Erskine sat down opposite him, his presence calming to Steve’s nerves. Now that it was a reality, Steve found himself strangely blank. The last ten weeks had all been about getting here, starting with his 1A and getting through the training and passing all their tests and _now_ they were telling him that tomorrow he might be cured. 

“How are you feeling?” he enquired gently, voice calm as always. Steve shrugged, shaking his head, no idea how to even begin to answer that question. All his life he was used to fighting for what he wanted, pushing back against the doors that closed in his face. And now, here he was. He was getting all his birthdays at once.

He couldn’t believe it. Not really, not until he was there and the procedure was going ahead. Sitting on that cot in the barracks, it just didn’t seem real, and probably wouldn’t seem real right up until the moment it happened. Erskine seemed to understand, nodding his head slowly. Steve supposed it must be a fairly big moment for him, too; to see his work finally come to fruition.

“Why me?” Steve blurted, and it wasn’t until he said it that he realised it was actually bothering him. All these weeks he had been fully focussed on the training and trying to negotiate everything they threw at him so that he would be in with a chance, but he knew he wasn’t the Colonel’s favourite candidate by any stretch. They were trying to win a war, here. The whole purpose of the programme was to create a new army of soldiers that would change the course of the war. Steve couldn’t help but think of all the others he had trained with over the past few weeks; how much taller and stronger and faster than him they had been.

The doctor seemed to ponder this for a moment, a sadness sinking through his shoulders.  
“There was a man, back in Germany; the head of Hitler’s Science Division, a man named Johann Schmidt.” Erskine cleared his throat. “He became obsessed with the idea of becoming stronger and more powerful. He took my serum, even though it was not ready. He took it and it worked. It made him stronger, just like he wanted.”

Steve realised that he had forgotten to keep up the appearance of breathing. He felt certain that, if it was possible, a shiver would have gone down his spine as the doctor told his story. 

“But it did…. Other things.” Erskine paused, eyes closing for a moment, and Steve was sure he didn’t imagine his shudder. “What you have to understand is that the serum amplifies everything within. So yes, it made him strong. But the darkness... everything that was bad about Schmidt, got worse.” 

There was a prickle right on the back of Steve’s neck, as if a thousand eyes were upon him. But when he looked up, Erskine was smiling at him once more, eyes soft and full of warmth.

“This is why you were chosen,” he said. “Because a strong man who has known power all his life may lose respect for that power. But a weak man knows the value of strength and knows compassion.”

Erskine’s words haunted Steve throughout the night.

+

Peggy couldn’t help but watch Steve as they crossed over into New York. He had slowly transformed from “Rogers” to “Steve” over the past few weeks, both of them getting more comfortable in each other’s company. Though really that was hardly surprising; knowing something as private about Steve as she did, and helping him through what was undeniably something her mother would have called a “delicate situation” tended to break down the barriers.

But Steve had shrunk back in on himself this morning, probably because of the nerves surrounding the procedure. It wasn’t as though she could really allay his fears, as she knew about as much as he did. When they’d sought her out they’d told her they planned to use Science to create a new army of super soldiers; the process itself was a closely guarded secret. She wished she had some words for him, a little comfort, but she despised small talk, and besides, they’d long ago moved past comments about the weather.

As they entered Brooklyn, Steve suddenly sat up in his seat, recognising the neighbourhood and not for entirely positive reasons, which really didn’t surprise her at all. Apparently he was just as stubborn in the back alleys of Brooklyn as he was on the training field. It was a characteristic that she recognised in herself, and one that she couldn’t help but admire. 

He went quiet again as they pulled up to the facility, following her quietly through the shop and down to the basement below, hidden beneath the streets of Brooklyn where no one could possibly suspect that history was about to be made. She hoped. They all hoped.

+

Four thousand miles away, Sergeant James Barnes suddenly gasped, drawing the attention of the rest of his platoon as he stopped mid-march, hand flexing up to his upper body. In the first two weeks after being deployed, he’d been horribly aware of a dim ache in his chest, as well as at his throat and the long-healed echoes of Steve’s teeth. The pain had eased to a distant sort of emptiness in recent weeks; just a nudge he was vaguely aware of at the back of his mind that was easy to ignore. But now he almost fell to his knees, and for a moment he seriously thought he had been shot.

Shouts went up for a medic as Sergeant Barnes broke out into a cold sweat, staggering and gasping at the terrible pain that shot through him. It lasted only a few moments, fading as suddenly as it had come, leaving him pale and shaky, without explanation. He got some funny looks but insisted they carry on, that he was fine, that it would take more than a bit of cramp to slow him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my usual gratitude to claire and sarah for putting up with me through this.  
> And also to you guys for taking a chance :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"They’d told him he’d be selling war bonds; that he’d be travelling around. No one had said anything about… about shorts."_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> The serum has done it's job and solved all Steve's vampire-related problems... right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left comments - it is great to hear from you, and your theories as to what might be going on with Steve and Bucky :)
> 
> In this chapter, there is the use of a xenophobic slur in the context of the war. It's once and brief. There's also an expected canonical death.

When Steve stepped out of the tank, the first thing he noticed was that he was gasping for breath. His lungs, dormant for so long, were filling in his chest of their own volition, dragging in the air as though his life depended on it – which he supposed they must do. He felt the air stir deep - the heady rush of oxygen - followed by the sensation of his heart actually beating, and not the way it had done back in 1939. 

He stepped down onto the cold tiles of the lab floor, battling with the sensory overload. His perspective was wrong, everything was far too noisy and bright, and his pulse had never sounded so loud. Peggy was there in front of him, but she was shorter. No, that wasn’t right, _he was taller_. She was staring at him, eyes wide, and he was vaguely aware of other people around him, hands touching him. 

It was disorientating. Everything around him was too much. The soft cotton t-shirt felt strange in his hands as he pulled it over his head, expecting it to be too loose when, in fact, it was almost too tight, especially around the arms.

But god, it had worked! For the first time in nearly three years, Steve was alive like every other human in the room. He was warm in a way that had nothing to do with recently consumed blood. And his heartbeat! Like an old friend, he could feel it. He lifted his hand up to his chest, his sensitive fingertips detecting the firm beat beneath his ribs.

There were voices all around, congratulating Doctor Erskine, pressing forward, while others fired questions that Steve was vaguely aware were aimed at him. And in the middle of all of it was Peggy, looking as though she was about to say something, and Steve noticed just how deep and brown her eyes were.

But then the whole world exploded around them, and everything went to hell.

+

Erskine was dead.

It was a bitter pill, one that sat heavy in Steve’s gut as he returned from the dockside back to the lab. More than that, he hadn’t even been able to catch his killer, just chased him through the streets, blinded by the need to just get his hands on the man that had killed one of the few people in Steve’s life to really believe in him. As if by doing that, Steve could make it not true, could take it back somehow.

But the Hydra agent had gasped his last, clutched in Steve’s hands on the dockside, foaming at the mouth, and Steve realised he didn’t know the world anymore.

Everything had changed in an instant; one second everyone was standing around, taking photos, making notes, asking questions while Steve tried to get his head around his new body, his new state of reality. And then there had been a huge explosion, followed by screams and shots, and the sight of Erskine falling to the ground was etched into Steve’s brain for the rest of time.

Steve’s body had started moving before he really had a chance to think about it – and boy could he move! He felt like the time Bucky had tried to teach him to ride a bike; it was exhilarating but with the added terror of not fully being in control. He didn’t even realise he was barefoot until much later. 

And, if Steve was being honest, it had been amazing. He had felt his body working, no restriction in his lungs and no dizziness. Nothing ached, his muscles obeyed his instructions… well… sort of. Corners were a bit of an issue. But that would come with time. He had been able to do something, been able to chase down Erskine’s killer, although much good it had done in the end.

Doctor Erskine had said that the serum amplified everything within; as Steve sat by the Hudson, crowds of people milling around gawping and yelling, he couldn’t help but wonder if that included the devastating sensation of loss trying to break out of his chest. Erskine had deserved so much better and Steve had already failed him. What good was he?

No good at all, according to Colonel Phillips. 

His voice echoed in the lab, cutting and clear, and Steve had to really bite his tongue in the face of it. For Erskine, he kept his temper in check, didn’t snark back no matter how much he might want to. Bucky would be proud; Steve could almost hear his voice in his head. _Finally learnt to keep your tongue between your teeth, huh_.

Peggy continued to be very kind, a consummate professional as always, and Steve was grateful for it. There were far too many people around for them to talk safely, even though Steve was dying to talk to her, and he felt sure she must have a dozen questions. But she glanced through all his notes as the lab technicians drew his blood and took his blood pressure, weighed him, measured him and everything else that needed to be done. Already he had the sensation of being in a circus with a spotlight above his head as they put him through his paces.

Yesterday it would have worried him, concerned about what they might find. But now he was anxious; needed to hear their verdict. Maybe it was selfish, focussing on the results of Erskine’s efforts when the man himself wasn’t here to see it. But Steve needed to know it had worked, that he had been cured.

But more than anything he wanted to be able to do something. Everything he had only dreamed of since he was a kid had finally happened. His spine had straightened out, he had a good heart and a sturdy pair of lungs. He was tall – 6ft 2 inches according to the nurse who stood him up against the wall – and a whopping 240lb. If only Bucky could see him now!

But the Colonel was very clear; he’d been promised an army and Steve wasn’t even close to being that; he just wasn’t enough, and wasn’t shy about saying as much to Steve’s face. Peggy gave him a final sympathetic smile before the rest of the SSR team swept out of the room, Howard Stark still talking at the top of his voice about Hydra this and mechanical engineering that. 

It was so damn frustrating; he could help, he knew he could! But they weren’t going to give him a chance. He’d come all this way, gone through all that, and now he was just… stuck back in Brooklyn. No Bucky, no place in the army. If it wasn’t for the lingering disorientation, he might almost argue that nothing had changed.

Senator Brandt broke into his thoughts, slapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder, an act that would have crushed Steve only a few hours before. Now he saw the senator wince slightly as his hand hit the equivalent of a brick wall.

He didn’t know much about politicians other than that they usually had more hot air than the Hindenburg. 

“How would you like to help your country, son?”

And wasn’t that was Steve had always wanted? 

+

Pride was an expensive commodity in Brooklyn but Steve had gone to great lengths to try to keep his head up and jaw square. All the same, Steve had done a fair number of things to make sure his part of the rent was paid on time, mostly with what Bucky called a “glint” in his eye, daring someone to say something, anything; part of his pride meant pulling his own damn weight and not letting anyone down or making excuses for himself.

But really. They’d told him he’d be selling war bonds; that he’d be travelling around. No one had said anything about… about shorts.

When he first saw the outfit they wanted him to wear he was speechless. He was sure there were rules about this… wasn’t it illegal for the flag to be worn? The _tights_ …

They said it was good for the war effort. They said it would raise morale, a nice healthy American (and Steve tried not to be too bitter about the last time someone had made a potato famine joke at his expense) seen doing his bit to fight the good fight, even if there was no actual fighting involved.

So he took a deep breath and walked out there the same way he walked down the street back home, head up as high as he could, because this was his job now. And it could be worse.

_Each bond you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy’s gun!_

The girls liked him. There was a whole mob of them and they were all so bright and cheerful and didn’t give two nickels for him, which was strangely familiar. It took them a while to warm up to him, far too used to being groped and pawed about by some of the army guys, the ones who seemed to think they were god’s gift to women. But it only took a few rehearsals; he was told to hold a girl by her waist and lift her up – Mary, her name was – and she’d been so surprised as he’d stammered through what he considered just plain politeness, because you couldn’t just go around touching women like their opinions didn’t matter. 

She’d appreciated it though, and besides, spending a couple of months in the road together in the same bus, the barriers were bound to break down. They were a cheerful group – a bit overwhelming if Steve was being honest – but he was pleased when they started including him in their conversation circles. They pronounced him to be a sweetheart and tried to help him with his lines, giving him the idea to put them on a card on the back of his shield. He became an expert at zipping up, was more than ready to put his years of experience darning Bucky’s socks into fixing stockings, and it wasn’t unusual for them to hand him a shoe or a sash or an earring – “here, hold this,” - and he would. 

The shows themselves were vaguely ridiculous – Steve sure as hell felt ridiculous stepping out on stage under so much fanfare – but the crowds seemed to like them, and the bonds were selling like hot cakes. The girls were great, and for some reason there were always people cheering and applauding at the end. But it was the kids in the front row, bouncing and yelling and pointing and cheering, the really made Steve’s day. 

By far the weirdest thing about the whole situation was his sudden popularity with the women who seemed to come to the show in droves, and wasn’t that an entirely new experience! It was a strange sensation to have so many people’s eyes on him, and for it to be an appreciative gaze that swept him from top to toe; eyes that had once slid right over him like he wasn’t even there, straight to Bucky with all his charm. Now it seemed like people were always staring, and looking _up_ at him. Of course it made the girls tease him all the more. 

He didn’t mind their gentle teasing, not really; the way they deliberately wouldn’t change their topic of conversation no matter what it was because they really liked to make him blush. It was softly familiar and he knew it was just their way of including him, and it was better than the mistrustful silence from the early days. 

One of the very best things was the travelling. He’d never been out of New York before but now he’d been to Wisconsin, Pennsylvania and Illinois, and there were rumours they would be going abroad, taking the show out to the troops. When he wasn’t on stage, Steve found himself with a certain amount to liberty.

He wrote to Bucky, even though he couldn’t be sure Bucky would even receive his letters. The post was notoriously slow, and any letters that might have been sent to his Brooklyn apartment hadn’t quite found their way to Steve yet. But he wrote anyway, because more than anything, Steve missed Bucky and home, missed him in a strangely physical way. Perhaps it was a hangover from before, just an echo of the ache he’d felt all through Basic, but whatever else might have changed thanks to the serum, Bucky’s absence still hurt.

Steve told Bucky he was travelling on the road with the USO. He knew he couldn’t talk about the serum or project rebirth in any way, but at least he could tell Bucky that he’d finally got what he wanted, in a manner of speaking. In the margins he sketched little details like Fran painting her nails, and the rows of shoes in a trunk that had been left open after a show. On the back of one letter he sketched out the entire Iron Block building in Milwaukee.

Everything was very surreal; it hardly felt like there was a war on at all. Steve ate and slept and went on stage in a terminal cycle until he didn’t know what part of the country he was in. There was also the bizarre experience of shooting a couple of pathé movies because apparently he was now a popular cartoon character, leading a whole platoon and storming through Europe, putting the Nazis out of business one dramatic skirmish after another. 

And in addition to all of that, Steve still hadn’t fully got to grips with his body. It was so easy to forget sometimes that he was so much taller, took up so much more space, than he had done before. He gradually got used to ducking his head before going through doorways or getting on the bus, but not before smacking his head more than once on the ceiling that was now an awful lot closer to him than it had been before.

If there was a track nearby, Steve visited to run a few laps, starting slow so he could get used to the way his arms and legs moved, heart rate hardly increasing, and all the time he was waiting for the pressure on his lungs, but it never came. He tried to go as early in the morning as possible before the tour bus was due to leave. It was liberating, but there were niggling doubts worrying Steve at the back of his mind.

He first noticed it in Buffalo. 

He’d decided to go for a walk in the heat of the afternoon, keen to stretch his legs after the cramped bus. There was no matinee that day, so he had a few hours before he had to be back and he was keen to get out and take a look around. He wasn’t at all worried about getting lost, vaguely aware of the serum at work when he reviewed the return route and found it was as clear in his mind as the streets from his neighbourhood back home. As he made his way down the blocks, he was mostly thinking about how strange it was to be looking over people’s shoulders rather than peering up and round their chests.

Steve was in Forest Lawn cemetery, sketching a few of the headstones and turning his eye to the way the sunlight poured through the trees, when he first noticed a vague… tightness in the back of his neck, and he found himself reaching up to rub at his shoulder. It wasn’t painful, not really; more annoying than anything. But it was there, and Steve felt his stomach drop.

Erskine’s serum was supposed to have cured all that. When Steve had stepped out into the lab, he had become warm and strong and with blood pumping vibrantly through his veins. His appetite was astronomical, and had taken a whole team of scientists to calculate just how much was needed to keep him functioning. The stone cold and the headaches and the dependence on blood had been swept away…. hadn’t it?

Steve wondered if he was being paranoid. His life had changed so quickly and so much; was he expecting it to all be too good to be true. He’d been in pain all his life; his scoliosis, the tightness in his chest from the asthma, the rheumatic fever, and then the attack in 1940 which had left Steve with a permanent gnawing ache in his gut, not to mention how his joints seized up under prolonged exposure to the sun.

That night he noticed he was hungrier than usual, tucking into his dinner while the girls chatted around him, and then it was out on stage to do his bit, to smile and punch ol’ Adolf on the jaw. And he felt just fine, not an ache anywhere and he decided that he was imagining it.

Until he found himself rubbing his neck in Chicago.

Steve ducked into a little Italian place, ordering a slice of pie because maybe it was just hunger, having not had anything since breakfast. He felt a brief stab of nostalgia for the days when he and Bucky had clubbed together to share a slice as a treat from one of the places in Bensonhurst. It had been years since the pair of them had stumbled down the street, jostling each other and laughing, Bucky’s eyes bright as he always let Steve have the first and last bite. 

The slice had a mouth-watering aroma, and Steve’s stomach gave a helpful gurgle of appreciation as he took his first bite and flavour flooded his mouth. For a second, Steve felt extremely satisfied that the whole thing was hunger pains and that he’d just have to make more of an effort to pay attention to himself because he’d been so used to not worrying about food… and then his lips began to burn.

He thought of Bucky’s kiss – the _garlic_ \- and the blisters that had followed; how his mouth had cracked and bled, and no amount of balm had managed to soothe it. Steve raised his hand to his mouth, expecting to find blood, the burning on his lips sharp and then fading, before returning even more acute, as though someone was burning him repeatedly with something hot against his mouth. Throwing all caution to the wind, Steve ran back to the theatre, relieved that he was so much more in control this time as he flew down the streets, avoiding people and cars and shop fronts. He slipped inside, trying to stay calm as he found an empty changing room, anxious about what he might see in the mirror. 

The mirror had behaved itself since his transformation; Steve’s reflection had stared back at him just the way it should have done, solid and dependable with not a hint of transparency. But now, with the sunshine pouring in from outside and his lips smarting painfully, there was a distinct shimmer about his reflection and he had to really concentrate to see himself. 

His lips were bright red and swollen, especially his lower lip, but even as he stared at his translucent reflection, the stinging abated to a vague tingle and the red receded. The skin around his mouth seemed to threaten at blotchiness before smoothing out, changing so fast it was hard to keep track of it. Gingerly and with a great amount of care, Steve ran a finger lightly over his lips. He felt the skin crack beneath his touch, felt the warmth of blood for the briefest of moments against the pad of his finger before it vanished. 

It was as though his body was confused, like it couldn’t decide whether to have a reaction or not. At one moment the tingling increased to a sharp pang, before vanishing. 

Steve braced himself, everything tense as he expected to feel ill. He had never actually ingested garlic prior to the serum – being in the same room as it seemed to be more than ample to produce a reaction - but anything that caused that amount of pain to his mouth must surely have an adverse effect on his stomach. 

He waited for stomach cramps or nausea, but nothing happened. His mouth cooled and his lips heeled for the final time. They were, perhaps, a little redder than usual, and his lower lip was slightly swollen but not so that anyone else would notice. 

Shakily, Steve sat down, feeling freaked out and alone. He thought this was all over. He wasn’t a vampire anymore, _he wasn’t_.

Was he?

+

“Come on, Sarge, you gotta eat somethin’,” Dugan was hovering, not wanting to piss off the sergeant too much, but also very aware that the kid had been far too quiet all day and he was sure he hadn’t eaten a thing. Armies marched on their stomachs, and Italy wasn’t exactly easy terrain.

Sergeant Barnes looked up at him, features thrown into sharp relief by the tent lamp, and Dugan felt a shiver go down his spine, though he couldn’t have explained why. His sergeant was young, but then wasn’t everybody in this damn war; and Dugan already knew the kid was tough and more than capable with a gun. They’d all won their stripes, one way or another, having skirmishes with the Germans and breaking on through, just to have another skirmish with a few more kraut a mile or so down the road.

“Will this make you quit your nannying, Dugan?” Sergeant Barnes sighed, holding his hand out for the K rations on offer. Dugan shot him a grin that was all teeth and no smile.

“This got garlic in it?” Dugan was almost out of the tent when he heard Barnes’s question. He turned back, not sure how to answer because jeez it was field rations not the damn Plaza Hotel. 

Barnes wasn’t looking at him. He was still sitting under the lamp, the billy can untouched in front of him. One hand was raised, touching his lips. It was almost like Dugan wasn’t even there.

“You ok, Sarge?” The feeling on the back of his neck was back. For a moment, Barnes didn’t say anything, before shrugging his shoulders and grabbing the tin. 

“M’fine, Dugan.”

There was nothing else to do but leave him to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so, thanks to everyone for taking a chance and reading this and staying with me so for. Your subscriptions and comments and kudos are really appreciated.
> 
> My usual thanks to Claire and Sarah who are still talking to me despite everything :-p


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Europe sure wasn't what Steve expected it to be"
> 
> The USO tour heads out to Europe but certainly doesn't go as well as one might hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in a weekend - I'm spoiling you.
> 
> I wanted to post this one so soon because it's the last of the "fixed point" chapters (for now) - fixed point, in that it's a canonical event that has to happen. 
> 
> There are no trigger or content warnings for this chapter.

Europe sure wasn’t what Steve expected it to be.

When they got the news that they were going abroad, that after four months on the road they were going over to where the war was very much in progress in order to entertain the troops, there had initially been a burst of excitement. Like Steve, a lot of the girls had hardly been out of their home state, never mind going on a plane to a whole different country. 

The war in Italy was a mess; the Italian government had surrendered back in September, two months after the invasion of Sicily just as the British executed Operation Baytown. What followed was several long weeks of mountainous terrain and mud and bad weather. Initially it had been hoped that they wouldn’t face much resistance, but far from looking like a retreat, the Germans seemed to be stepping up their defence.

While a lot of the action was focussed on the Winter Line just south of Rome, the Allies had managed to find a small pocket of land on the Austro-Italian border and it was here that the tour headed. The idea was to give the GIs a taste of home. There would be free coffee and donuts – luxuries unheard of our in the deep theatre of war. Then Steve would go out and do his thing. He wasn’t Ann Miller or Judy Garland, but he was completely unprepared for what happened. 

It was a muddy clearing in the middle of a wood - and honestly, Steve wouldn’t have guessed he was in Italy if he hadn’t been told – with a mob of men in khaki, staring up at him like he’d just landed from a different planet. It was unnerving. October had finally stumbled into November and winter was definitely on its way, but still the weak winter sun filtered through the clouds and trees into the clearing, throwing into sharp relief the unimpressed faces, and Steve felt reality smack him forcefully in the face, way harder than any street bully. 

This was war; the exhaustion on their faces, the hard fix of their shoulders, the smell of bodies living in close quarters under damp canvas and marching on and on in whatever direction they were told. The air was tinted with the leather of boots and the watery soup in the mess tent urns, and whatever was passing for coffee, bitter and sharp. 

He could hear their hearts, more a stuttering thrum, taking the time while no one was shooting at them to just beat at whatever passed for normal these days. Steve’s throat felt dry; how was he supposed to perform for these guys? He had fallen off a plane after months of touring back in the safety of home. All he’d faced were kids and cheers, nothing more dangerous than a torn stocking or a loose button. He had nothing in common with these men who really had been punching Adolf on the jaw as hard as they damn well could. For real. With Adolf punching back much harder.

They knew he was a fake, could smell the polish on him probably. What right did he have to stand there, asking for them to play along with this ridiculous charade? It was a relief to step off that stage, to leave the jeers behind him. He knew it wasn’t really him they were yelling at; it was Uncle Sam who had sent them out there thousands of miles from home, away from their families and their wives, and for what? Steve grabbed his trench coat and took himself for a walk, far away from the cheery piano accompanying the girls as they stepped out to whoops and shouts of approval. 

Later, while everyone else was getting a bite to eat, Steve sat by himself back stage, listening to the persistent raindrops thrumming on the wooden deck. Still wrapped in the green of his trench coat, he went unnoticed, blending in with the trees and the mud like everybody else. He’d had half a thought about trying to capture the bleak landscape that surrounded him, but instead his pencil framed out a monkey on a unicycle with a wide fake smile, star-spangled chest and matching shield. The unicycle was precariously balanced above a clownish audience, waiting expectantly for the performing monkey to fall. The rain continued to splatter against the mud at his feet, a sort of pathetic fallacy to the circus that had become his life. 

Certainly 1943 seemed to be one long joke at Steve’s expense, with Bucky getting enlisted while Steve got left behind, only for Steve to get that coveted 1A. Except that the following round of basic training nearly put his lights out, and certainly nearly revealed his most closely-guarded secret. But then Peggy had saved him and Erskine had chosen him and the serum had _cured_ him… and here he was in the ass end of Northern Italy with a tin shield and a woollen uniform and the sensation that it was never meant to be this way.

“Hello, Steve,” he startled a little at such a soft friendly voice out here in the wilderness. It was if Steve had somehow conjured her with an errant thought.

Peggy looked great, but then she always did. Even out here she was perfectly turned out; although Steve really shouldn’t have expected anything less. He understood that Peggy’s appearance - her curled hair and lipstick - were her armour.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, because “here” was a world away from the last time they’d met, back in Brooklyn. 

“Officially, I’m not,” she replied, perching on a box of props nearby.

_Right_. The SSR were fighting the real war, not the one in the comic books. Steve looked back at his sketch book.

Pride was still an expensive commodity, perhaps now more than ever. But while Steve might not have fired a single live shot in the war so far, he knew his shows had spiked the sale on war bonds wherever he’d been and he was proud of that. Not so long ago, America had been aggressively isolationist, not wanting to be dragged into yet another European war. Now there was support back home, and money was pouring into the war effort. If that meant sacrificing a little pride and self-respect… well, it wouldn’t be the first time Steve had done something he wasn’t proud of for the greater good. And it had to be better than being stuck in a lab.

_What am I gonna do, gather scrap metal in my little red wagon?_ It felt like seventy years since he’d had that row with Bucky.

“You were meant for much more than this, you know.” Peggy said softly, and it was as though she’d read his thoughts.

Just then a medic van swung into view, stirring activity in the camp. Another poor soul being dragged out half dead on a stretcher.

“They look like they’ve been through hell,” Steve murmured, like he wasn’t stating the damn obvious. 

“These more than most,” Peggy hummed in agreements. “Five hundred men went up against Schmidt at Azzano, but less than fifty returned, the rest killed or captured.” She sighed heavily. “Your audience contained what’s left of the 107th.” 

Steve inhaled sharply, as though all the air had been punched out of him.

_No. Not Bucky_.

Throwing his sketchbook and pencil to one side, Steve set off into the rain in search of Colonel Phillips’ tent, because he had to know, he _needed_ to know. His mind was just blank, ears ringing and stomach pitching and rolling with the thought that Bucky was dead.

The Colonel was in one of the larger canvas tents, evidently the base of whatever operations no one was supposed to know about. He looked up as Steve walked in, mouth pressed into a flat line.

“Well if it isn’t the star spangled man with the plan. And what is your plan today?” He sounded bored and tired and looked thoroughly unimpressed to see him. Steve didn’t give a damn about any of that because his head was about to explode.

“I need the casualty list from Azzano,” he breathed, amazed that he wasn’t actually shouting at this point. Phillips just looked at him.

“You don’t get to give me orders, son.” 

Like that was even important. Like Steve even cared about procedure or rank, or any of that right now. 

“I just need one name,” Steve focussed on the matter at hand, of keeping his temper in check, because if he had any hope of getting the information he needed, then he just had to be clear and let the colonel understand just what he was asking. “Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th.”

This time the colonel’s flat look was aimed over Steve’s shoulder to where Peggy was hovering behind him. 

“Please just tell me if he’s alive.”

Because that was what it all came down to, in the end. Steve had dragged Bucky down to the damn enlistment office back when his head had been filled with all sorts of nonsense and not a single idea about the realities of war, and Bucky had indulged him. They were supposed to go off together, to fight together. But Steve had been left behind.

And Steve had been here, in Italy, performing in tights while Bucky had been out fighting for his life. Steve just needed to know that he was alive.

“I have signed more of these condolence letters than I would care to count,” the Colonel’s face softened slightly. “But the name does sound familiar. I’m sorry.”

Steve waited for some devastating blow, for it to physically hurt somewhere from hearing the worst news imaginable so clearly. It must surely be a mortal blow, but instead Steve felt nothing; he was completely numb. 

“What about the others,” he stuttered, not quite ready to give up. Just because Bucky was on the list didn’t mean he was dead. Peggy had said some had been taken prisoner. He looked over to the map set up behind the Colonel, little flags dotted around it showing each front and various bases belonging to each side. “Are you planning a rescue mission?”

“Yeah, it’s called winning the war.” The sympathetic tone was gone, the Colonel back to business.

Steve stared at him, somewhat incredulous. Surely he wasn’t going to leave all those people behind as collateral! But something told Steve that was exactly what he was going to do.

“They’re thirty miles behind the lines,” the Colonel gesticulated towards the map in question. “Through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We’d lose more men that we’d save.” The Colonel turned, staring at Steve with a piercing glare.

“But I don’t expect you to understand that because you’re a chorus girl.”

_Fine_.

The dismissal in the Colonel’s tone was clear. He was done talking about this and he had a war to win, so the star spangled man with whatever kind of plan should get the hell out of his tent.

Steve left, jaw tight. He’d gotten all that he needed anyway. He knew where the camp was. If Bucky was alive then he was there. Steve might understand where the Colonel was coming from, but that didn’t mean he had to agree with it. The time for sitting around and doing nothing was over.

+

Peggy followed hot on Steve’s heels because she knew that look, was more than familiar with it from Camp Lehigh. Phillips had always underestimated Steve; she respected him as an excellent commander of men with no time for bullshit, but he’d never quite been able to see Steve Rogers beyond his height and health problems. 

But Peggy knew better. Steve Rogers was a man who leapt in feet first, and she knew that the set of his jaw and the look in his eye meant only one thing.

“What do you plan to do, walk to Austria?” she enquired, not at all sorry for her incredulous tone.

“If that’s what it takes,” Steve replied, not looking at her as he grabbed various items from his tent, and it was clear he was deadly serious.

Nothing had changed. Steve might be taller and broader and stronger than the man she had met in New Jersey, but he was still a stubborn fool with no actual plan, just a vague idea of what he wanted to do. 

It was another Steve Rogers special, like joining the army: vague idea and the rest would hopefully come later. He was clutching a helmet from his USO stage show, for heaven’s sake! But he was absolutely sincere and completely determined. 

Well, it was just as well she was there, then, wasn’t it.

Having finished throwing various items into a canvas bag, Steve grabbed the little shield from the stage show and headed out of the tent. The rain had stopped, leaving everything steaming from the November sunshine pouring through the clouds. She watched as he threw his stuff into the back of a jeep before turning back to her.

“You told me you thought I was meant for more than this,” he stared at her, like whatever she said next was the most important thing he’d ever hear. Peggy suddenly understood that he admired her, valued her opinion. “Did you mean it?”

“Every word,” she replied, without hesitation. Of course she’d meant it. Erskine had chosen him. Steve had always deserved his chance, he had just been extremely unlucky with the hand he’d been dealt. He seemed to sigh, shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of her faith.

“Then you gotta let me go,” he replied, turning to climb into the van.

Peggy rolled her eyes. How far did Steve think he was going to get? Did he even know how much petrol was in the tank? Was he even in the possession of a compass – she doubted it.

“Oh, I can do more than that,” she replied evenly.

+

Stark owed her a favour.

Actually, Howard owed Peggy lots of favours. He may well be a highly intelligent mechanical engineer and chief weapons expert, but he was a handful and Peggy was more than capable of handling him. And he knew it. 

So when she asked him to fly them into enemy territory and provide Steve with a parachute so that he could drop in on Kreischberg, he agreed with his usual wink and a grin that had Peggy counting to ten slowly in her head.

Steve had, mercifully, swapped out his shorts and tights and ridiculous red boots for a far more sensible set of green fatigues and black army boots, a leather jacket slung over the blue of his Captain America costume. He sat comfortably enough in the back of the plane as the engine roared to life, Howard steering it into the sky with ease.

They put their heads together over Peggy’s map as the plane made its way into the night.

“The Hydra camp is in Kreischberg, tucked between two mountain ranges. It’s a factory of some kind,” she pointed it out on the map. Steve nodded, absently, mind clearly already on what was to come. “We should be able to drop you on the doorstep.”

“Just get me as close as you can,” he replied.

It was all going quite well, considering she’d disappeared from camp without leave and had commandeered a plane for the express purpose of flying over enemy territory. Steve looked focussed and now he also had a plan, and that was definitely a comforting thought.

But then Howard could always be counted upon to open his mouth.

“Agent Carter, if we’re not in too much of a hurry, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late night fondue,” Howard’s smooth tones filtered back from the cockpit and Peggy wanted to kill him. Steve looked at Peggy blankly and it would be adorable except she was completely mortified. She cleared her throat.

“Stark is the best civilian pilot I’ve ever seen, and mad enough to brave this airspace; we’re lucky to have him,” Peggy found herself trying to fill the silence, to say anything at all, but Steve still had that look on his face and she absolutely dreaded whatever was coming next. 

“So, are you two,” Steve was looking between her and the cockpit, and Peggy really didn’t want him to finish that sentence. “Do you… fondue?”

Yes, she was definitely going to kill Howard. Slowly and painfully, with one of his own inventions, preferably. 

“This is your transponder,” Peggy handed over the little black item, gracefully side-stepping that minefield, because Steve couldn’t possibly know that Stark was poking fun at the both of them. “Activate it when you’re ready and the signal will lead us straight to you.”

Because it was all very well having a plan to get in. Usually the problems started when you wanted to get back out. If Steve was successful and he did find Sergeant Barnes, or anyone else for that matter, then he’d need an exit plan and this was as good a plan as any.

“Are you sure this works?” Steve was staring at the transponder somewhat dubiously which was fair enough, but before she could respond, Stark snorted from the front of the plane.

“Been tested more than you, pal!”

The first explosion rocked the plane; so much for sneaking in and out undetected. And a spitfire this most certainly wasn’t, no rear gunner with a machine gun to fire back. They were totally exposed. Steve made a dive for the door.

“Get back here!” she yelled as Steve yanked open the door. “We’re taking you all the way in.”

It was clear he wasn’t listening, staring down at the ground below. 

“As soon as I’m clear, turn this thing around and get the hell out of here,” he yelled about the roar of the engine which was so much louder now that the door was open. More explosions boomed in the air around them. 

Just who did he think he was? Five minutes on a plane, and the back alley cat from Brooklyn, all hiss and spit, was suddenly brimming with confidence about leaping out of a plane.

“You can’t give me orders,” she retorted. 

“The hell I can’t,” Steve grinned up at her from the door way of the plane. “I’m a captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things are first: I must apologise because I have lied through my teeth in this chapter which, as an historian, pains me. 
> 
> I know it's an AU but oh my lordy in November 1943 the Allies were nowhere near the Austro-Italian border. They were firmly stuck below the Winter line. But since when has actual military history gotten in the way of a good story? For the purposes of the narrative there's a tiny circle of allied territory just by the boundary with Austria. Yes.
> 
> Additionally, it might interest you to know that Camp Shows didn’t start on mainland Europe until 1944 after Operation Overlord. Believe me, I am side-eyeing Marvel SO HARD right now...
> 
> I think the next chapter will be up quite soon too.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Although maybe picking a fight on a platform only three feet wide and set high above a ton of flames wasn’t the brightest idea Steve had ever had, but that first punch had felt so damn good."
> 
> Steve breaks into the Kreischberg factory in his search for Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again - thank you to the lovely people leaving me comments - it's great to hear from you.
> 
> There are a few content warnings in this chapter - nothing out of canon but Bucky has been tortured, and there's a brief mention of needles.

Steve unclipped himself from the parachute harness easily and took in the forest around him. For the first time he felt really alive. The descent from the plane had been exhilarating, air rushing past him, cold and fresh. He’d touched down neatly and let his senses take over as he surveyed his surroundings. 

Everything felt easier and more natural. It may well have been pitch dark, but Steve could see the colours of the forest as though it was daylight, rich browns and greens. Then there was the deep scent of wet soil and the hushed sound of leaves above his head. Beneath his feet, Steve could feel the vague vibrations of what could only be lorries rumbling along a road, and so that was the direction he headed. He moved easily, never once stumbling even though there were plenty of tree roots and nothing you might call a path. 

Soon he could hear as well as sense the lorries, and with it the stench of the factory. It was oil and smoke, poisoning the air and creeping into his lungs. Steve found himself missing the days when he could hold his breath indefinitely because if there was one bonus to not breathing, it was blocking out bad smells. 

Altering his route slightly, Steve came to the road just a few yards from the heavy gates of the factory, and the convoy of lorries rumbled steadily up the road towards it. Steve waited until the last one rolled past before leaping out from his hiding place in the underbrush, climbing with ease up onto the back and slipping past the canvas. 

The two soldiers in the back posed no problem; a quick skirmish and it was all over, Steve was barely out of breath. He chucked them out the back onto the road, rather than risk them coming to while they were still travelling. 

Without consciously thinking about it, Steve fell back on his senses, listening for footsteps and using heartbeats to work out numbers as the lorries manoeuvred to a stop. He heard the creak of doors, the ever-present undertone thrum of machinery; but there was something else, a tingle in his spine. It was almost as though the invisible thread that bound him to Bucky was suddenly making itself known. _Bucky was here_.

It was surprisingly easy to navigate the site. Schmidt was clearly not expecting an attack, especially not a one-man incursion. The few Hydra soldiers he came across were overcome without difficulty, too surprised to reach for their weapons and then out like a light after one punch. Steve found the factory floor first - empty now, the prisoners having already been returned to their cells. He stole quickly across the room, before his attention was caught by a glowing blue. The item was small, like a lighter, and easily pocketed. He had no idea what it was, or how it related to whatever the factory was constructing, but it couldn’t hurt to take some intelligence back with him. It might help to soften up what would, undoubtedly, be a hell-fire spitting Colonel.

Once off the factory floor, his feet seemed to find their way easily; left, right, right again, up two flights of stairs and down a corridor. Steve moved swiftly, following some inner instinct, and allowed a brief flash of victory as he discovered the detention section. He’d never seen anything like it; there must have been hundreds of men in there, all crammed together in great circular cages set below floor level. There was only one guard, walking up and down, his attention firmly on the men below him, and it seemed to Steve to be so completely arrogant. He enjoyed knocking the soldier out, body falling to the ground with a satisfying thump. 

Below him, heads craned, looking up to see what was going on. Steve stared back at them, every sound loud in his ears. He catalogued every heartbeat, desperately hoping for a sign of the one he knew best. He breathed deep, mentally sorting through the oil and dirt and everything else to find that one scent he was so keen to find. But he knew, had known even as he stepped into the room, that Bucky was not to be found in there.

Steve quickly disarmed the guard and set about opening cage after cage, each time asking the same question; _I’m looking for James Barnes, a Sergeant James Barnes, does anyone know Sergeant Barnes?_

He was met with a sea of blank faces as they poured out, quickly filling the corridor and waiting for instructions. But then, as he asked again, a man with a bowler hat caught his eye, jerking his head and catching the eyes of the others who had shared his cage.

“Do you know Sergeant Barnes?” Steve asked, pressing forward. He could hear the thick sturdy beat of the man’s heart, the way it increased slightly as he looked meaningfully at a taller, leaner man – a Brit by his uniform, and a lieutenant, still sporting his red beret. 

“There’s an isolation ward in the factory,” the lieutenant replied, calm and sincere but his face was shadowed. “No one has ever come back from it.”

Steve understood what he was being told. Bucky had been taken to the isolation ward and Steve wasn’t to be getting his hopes up about it. But he knew, he just _knew_ , that Bucky was alive and in this building somewhere. He nodded, almost to himself more than anything else, before clearing his throat. 

These guys needed to get out of here. What soldiers there were wouldn’t be expecting their prisoners to suddenly be loose, and hopefully the element of surprise would allow them to get hold of a few more weapons and blast their way out.

He raised his voice, capturing the attention of everyone in the room – and wasn’t that a turn for the books! These men looked to him with earnest expressions, hanging on his words. He used the technique he’d been taught for selling war bonds back stateside so that his voice carried to the back of the crowd of soldiers, telling them how far the treeline was and in which direction to head. With any luck, he wouldn’t be too far behind them, but he needed to find Bucky first.

As the soldiers started to move, Steve turned to leave when a voice called out from behind him. One of the guys who had been in the cage with the English lieutenant and the man with the bowler hat was staring after him.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” The guy asked, clearly looking Steve up and down. Steve considered what he must look like having just dropped out of nowhere in a leather jacket clutching a brightly coloured tin shield.

“Sure,” he replied easily, not wanting to waste another moment. “I’ve knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times.”

Maybe they thought he was crazy, but Steve didn’t rightly care. Their job was to get the hell out of there as quickly as they could. Steve had someplace else to be.

+

Bucky took the green line from Grand Central to Brooklyn, stepping off the train and striding through the streets towards their apartment block. The sun was too bright and the city too loud, faceless people pushing against him, knocking his shoulders as he tried to make it home.

He needed to get home to Steve, needed to be in their apartment with the curtains closed so he could wrap his arms around that familiar thin waist and just lose himself in Steve’s warm scent.

“Steve!”

Bucky yelled as he ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, legs aching with the effort. The staircase seemed longer than usual, never ending as he strove to reach their floor. Then all along the corridor to their front door, all the time calling Steve’s name. The corridor was long, so long, his front door much further away from the stairs than he remembered.

“Steve!” 

His own voice echoed strangely in his ears. Bucky felt as though he was yelling at the top of his lungs, but it sounded muffled and distorted. Finally, he threw open the door of his apartment, half expecting to find Steve at the kitchen table, or perhaps snoozing on the sofa. But the apartment was empty. 

“Steve?”

+

Steve’s steps echoes loudly against the concrete as he followed his gut instinct up towards the isolation ward. As he reached the third floor, he jerked his head suddenly, his feet changing direction sharply to leave the stairwell, because that was definitely Bucky’s blood that Steve could sense. Just a hint of it on the tip of his tongue, but he’d know it anywhere. Something very deep inside Steve’s heart growled.

But then he collided with a brace of guards in their black uniforms, and clearly the break in the detention block had been discovered as alarms began to blare, even as he dropped the last man, disarming him efficiently. He hoped the others had as much success and gave these Hydra goons hell. 

Now that the whole factory had been alerted to the breach, everything seemed to step up a gear. Where before the factory had been a rest with its low-level hum of inactivity, it now sprang to life with sharp sounds that tore the air and angry vibrations beneath Steve’s feet. Aware that he was running out of time, Steve tried to step it up a little, all the time with the same thought running through his mind. _Hang on, Bucky, I’m coming, I promise I’m coming_.

+

Bucky was cold. Of course he was cold, he was standing on the boardwalk at Coney Island in November staring out to sea. But everything was cold these days, and his head hurt and his body ached. Ever since… ever since…

He looked out at the angry grey sea, waves frothing against the sand. He had been looking for Steve; Steve who hadn’t been at the apartment. Why wasn’t he in the apartment? He shouldn’t be out in the sunlight, even if it was November with its gloomy overcast skies. But Bucky was caught by the sea, the way it swelled and retreated, tempestuous and relentless; Bucky couldn’t look away. And he was so cold, right down to his bones.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a shadow. The boardwalk was deserted, the cold and the weather keeping people away. The rides were silent and stalls stood empty. Bucky was completely alone, apart from the shadow, the silhouette, standing off to the side.

_Steve_.

He’d know that gait anywhere; the narrow shoulders, folded in where Steve had his hands shoved in his pockets as usual. As the shadow grew closer, Bucky could see the gold of his hair, Steve’s bangs loose in his eyes as usual. Any minute now he’d sweep them away and then Bucky would be able to see the deep blue of those eyes.

“Bucky, where are you?” Steve looked right up at him, the collar of his jacket folded up against the wind.

“I’m right here, Stevie,” he replied, not quite understanding the question. Around them, the wind seemed to whip right up, and the growl of the sea became a roar. Steve’s face was pale, eyes wide with worry.

“I’ve been looking everywhere, Bucky, just hold on, I’m coming. I promise.”

It didn't make any sense. Just then the air was ripped apart by a flash of lightning, the soapy grey fading into a deep black, and the cold in Bucky’s spine seemed to grip him even tighter.

“Steve, what…?”

Another crack of lightning, and this one felt like it cut straight through his skull. The world around him flickered again. Everything went dark and Steve disappeared, and Bucky suddenly felt unbearably alone. There was an explosion of noise - no longer the angry rumble of the waves, but a sharp, searing sound that buzzed like physical pain.

Just as Bucky began to panic, felt his heart pounding in his chest because reality was collapsing around him; just as he realised that he wasn’t home or in Coney Island, there were hands on him, pulling at his shoulders. Adrenaline flooded his system, exhaustion sweeping him and yet he prepared to fight whatever this new things was. But then he heard the sweetest sound in the world.

“Bucky? Oh my god…”

+

As Steve drew up the final flight of stairs, the scent of Bucky’s blood grew stronger, mingled with other things that made Steve shudder. The air was stale with decay, but then there was a flutter of movement as he rounded a corner. Through the darkness he could see clearly a small man emerging from a side door, clutching a bag. At the sound of Steve’s advance he stared up, eyes wide, before turning tail and running.

Steve went to give chase, wondering what the man could be doing here because he didn’t look like a prisoner, but he was hardly decked out in the typical garb of Hydra. A distant but familiar thud stopped him in his tracks. He paused by the door the man had just come through, something prickling at the back of his neck. Maybe it was the smell, or perhaps he heard a groan in between the clamouring of the sirens and the thud of his own heartbeat. Whatever it was, Steve left the man to run away, choosing instead to enter the dark room beyond.

At first it appeared empty, large shadows in the dark of machinery and gurneys silhouetted by the bright lights outside the windows. The floor was sticky under Steve’s boots as he made his way across the room, and there at the end, beneath an enormous machine, lay Bucky abandoned and alone. 

There was bile rising in Steve’s throat as he stepped forward, feeling a chill run down his spine as he reached out to his friend. For a moment he thought he was too late, but then he heard it; quiet and far too slow but definitely there – the firm _thu-thump thu-thump_ of Bucky’s heart still beating in his chest.

As his fingers brushed Bucky’s skin, all the pain that had been missing since Colonel Philips had read out Bucky’s name broke through Steve like a flood, and he took it and absorbed it and let it consume him completely. With his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, he took all the fear and anger and worry and wrapped it up deep inside himself because Bucky was alive and they were damn well going to get out of here.

He used that anger to pull apart the restraints binding Bucky to that gurney, steadfastly ignoring the alien machines surrounding them and their implications, gently coaxing Bucky back to consciousness. He saw the moment Bucky’s eyes began to focus, looking directly up at him.

“Hey,” Steve murmured, trying to get Bucky to sit up. “It’s me, it’s Steve,”

His hand was almost buzzing where it connected with Bucky, gently pulling him up onto his feet so he could get a good look at him. 

“I thought you were dead,” Steve croaked, which was a stupid thing to say really, but he said it anyway because damn it he loved Bucky so much, he’d rip the world apart for him. He couldn’t help the way he clung to Bucky, hand resting on the back of the man’s neck so that his thumb brushed against the stubble of Bucky’s jaw. 

Bucky, almost glowing in the darkness he was so pale, could only stare back at the man before him. He looked up and down a couple of times, eyes blinking as though to clear his vision. Steve waited with baited breath, wanting him to say something, anything, to show that he was ok.

“Thought you were smaller,” Bucky mumbled, still wide-eyed.

They needed to get out of there. Now in addition to the sirens, Steve could heard the distant rumble of fire, could taste the beginnings of smoke creeping through the corridors. In a bizarrely reversed echo of their former selves, Steve threw Bucky’s arm over his shoulder and they began to make their way out of the complex.

After a couple of minutes where they stumbled together in silence, Bucky groaning as the cramp in his legs subsided, he broke apart from Steve to try to walk on his own. Steve let him go, keeping his eyes ahead as he tried to maintain his bearings, trying not to stare at Bucky who was alive and breathing beside him.

“What happened to you?” Bucky broke the silence, still looking at Steve liked he’d fallen out of the sky. And Steve guessed he couldn’t really blame him; it had taken him long enough to get used to changes wrought by the serum. The last time Bucky had seen him, Steve had been a five foot four inch anaemic vampire.

Steve paused, only for a moment. How the hell could he explain any of this? He couldn’t. He wasn’t going to lie to Bucky but damn it, they were running for their lives; now just wasn’t the time to go into the finer points of Erskine and basic training and the serum. 

“I joined the army,” he said.

+

Bucky was still cold, like he’d never be warm again. His skin prickled with goosebumps while his body shook with the shivers. Somehow his legs were holding him up, moving one step in front of the other to keep up with… whoever the fuck it was in front of him.

Steve, he’d said. But Steve was in Brooklyn.

And Steve definitely didn’t look like _that_.

But it was Steve’s voice and those were Steve’s eyes. Maybe it was Steve. Maybe Bucky was hallucinating again. But he had a nasty feeling this was all real. His mind used to take him back home to Brooklyn whenever it played tricks on him; made him feel like he was safe at home before unleashing the worst of reality upon him. All the sounds and smells, the way the buildings shook with distant fire and explosions – all this felt a little too real.

The ground beneath them was shaking; somewhere things were exploding and Bucky distantly knew that was a bad thing, but he was having trouble focusing on more than one thing at a time. So he kept his eyes on Steve and decided just to keep going for as long as his legs would carry him.

They stepped out of the corridor into the centre of the factory and yeah… things were on fire. Even as they both stood there looking around, trying to work out their next move, they were thrown back by the force of another blast from the factory floor beneath them, the scorched air washing over their faces. So they headed up, because where else could they go? The ground was ablaze.

But then they both stopped, shocked to a halt by a voice calling out to them from across the way. Bucky watched as Steve turned to where the call came from; the voice smooth and confident, turning Bucky’s stomach. Over on the other side of the factory across a small bridge link stood a tall man in leather, and Bucky couldn’t help but think that this guy was too much to be real. With his pale glowing face and leather gloves and his smirk, he was like some sort of cartoon character from the pulp he used to buy before the war.

The guy standing next to him, however; he was real all right. Bucky felt everything inside him clench because he knew that man, and Bucky grasped onto the metal railing hard, determined to stay upright, no matter how much his knees might want to buckle under the gaze of that man, that fucking awful man. With his bag and his needles and his words that seeped into Bucky’s brain…

The cartoon villain guy was still talking, still smirking, and that was when Bucky caught sight of Steve’s face. That was Stevie all right; Bucky could see him clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth as he started to cross the bridge; could see the lines of fury vibrating through him, eyes blown wide and black, hackles right up. Bucky had just enough time to think _holy shit he’s gonna rip that guy’s throat out_ , before Steve punched the guy as hard as he could.

A proper punch that should have broken the guy’s jaw, judging by the echoing crack. Steve’s nostrils were flared in a way that Bucky had never seen before. He’d seen Steve pissed off plenty of times, seen him get into fights for all kinds of perceived wrongs and injustices. But he’d never seen anything like this. Steve wanted to tear this guy limb from limb and scatter the remains to the four corners of the world. Bucky thought he might just let him. 

They were squaring up to each other now, but the other guy – the _doctor_ – and Bucky felt sick and cold all over again just looking at him, clearly had the same thought and was able to do something about it. Before Steve could even bare his teeth, the doctor had pressed the button to separate the two men. The bridge rolled back and Bucky breathed, Steve coming back to his side once more.

+

Steve watched as Schmidt rolled back to the opposite side of the factory, thanks to the little bespectacled guy he’d seen earlier – and didn’t that just piss him off. It was clear now that he was working with Schmidt and was responsible for the hurt and torture done to Bucky and who knew how many others. 

Although maybe picking a fight on a platform only three feet wide and set high above a ton of flames wasn’t the brightest idea Steve had ever had, but that first punch had felt so damn good. And he’d got a really good kick in before the bridge had parted.

Why was it that villains always felt the need to make their damn evil speeches; just like Hitler in Berlin, there seemed to be this obsession with the sound of their own voice and Steve didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to punch the guy’s lights out and get the hell out of there with Bucky, and if he hadn’t dropped his gun he would have loved nothing more than to just put a bullet in Schmidt’s head. He could feel his canines tingling with the desire to just rip these two apart, and maybe if he hadn’t been so angry, that sensation would have terrified him.

Steve was painfully aware of the white-knuckle grip Bucky had on the railing; the light of the fire below them throwing into sharp relief the shadows around his eyes. 

“No matter what lies Erskine told you, I was his greatest success,” Schmidt spat as the bridge juddered to a halt, his voice only just carrying over the angry roar of the flames beneath them. 

And Steve had any number of replies to that, except that they all died on his tongue as Schmidt began to pull at the skin on his jaw. Steve stared in horror as pale human flesh gave way easily to the dark red beneath. Black eyes peered out of dark hollows and Steve felt like he’d swallowed a stone. The serum had done that; Erskine had said it hadn’t been ready, that there had been unexpected side effects. But this was something else.

“We have left humanity behind,” Schmidt’s voice was scornful as it carried over to where they stood, and Steve felt a stab of irony because the man before him with his red skull and burning eyes would never know how true that statement was.

“Unlike you, I embrace it proudly,” Schmidt gave them one last contemptuous glance before stepping out of sight into the elevator. 

Steve’s head was reeling, but there wasn’t time to contemplate what he’d just witnessed. The whole place rocked with another explosion, and he and Bucky needed to get out of there fast. The bridge was out of the question, but there was another door on the level above them, and a rather useful girder. 

“Come on,” Steve turned back to Bucky who still looked like he was about to throw up at any minute, and directed him to the staircase. The air was getting thick and hot as they reached the top, Steve helping Bucky over the railing. Steve held his breath as Bucky slowly started to make his way across, swaying slightly as the building shook. The girder quaked as another blast shuddered through the factory, and Bucky had just enough time to grab the rails on the other side before the metal groaned and buckled, falling to the fiery pit below. 

_Great_. 

Steve looked over to where Bucky was staring at him, eyes wide. At least he was safe; he should get out of there while he had the chance. 

“No, not without you!”

And that’s what it came down to, really. Bucky wasn’t going anywhere, and Steve knew if it was the other way round, he’d be just the same. Hell, he’d parachuted into the depths of enemy territory on the whisper of a chance that Bucky might be here. 

Steve took a deep, steadying breath. Thinking back to the chase through Brooklyn, the speed he could run and the heights he’d managed to jump. He could do this – it was his only chance. Bending a stray piece of railing back to clear his path, he fixed his eyes on Bucky.

It was a leap of faith, and there was something freeing about being airborne, nothing beneath him apart from air and fire. Bucky and the platform seemed so far away, but then his fingers brushed against metal, cold and hard and real. Hands gripped his arms, pulling him up while his legs kicked the air as he somehow made it to the other side of the railing.

Steve lay on his back, one hand on his chest as he caught his breath. He could feel Bucky watching him, his hand still on Steve’s arm where he’d help heave him to safety. 

The building was still burning and they weren’t out of there yet. 

“Come on,” Steve groaned, pulling himself up. “Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey did you know Kreischberg is an actual place 67 miles from the Italian border? Not 30 miles like a certain Colonel would have you believe... So this is one of those AU moments where we ignore actual military history in favour of the marvel verse.
> 
> OK so I totally lied, THIS is one of the last "fixed point" chapters in this vampire AU.
> 
> Usual flowers and chocolates to Claire & Sarah.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Son of a bitch,” Dugan muttered, still wearing his damn hat._
> 
> _“That’s Sergeant Son of a Bitch to you, Dugan,” Bucky shot back, easy as anything, as though the last time they’d seen each other it hadn’t involved Bucky being dragged off to the lab._
> 
> Bucky and Steve start the long march home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, there, friends.
> 
> here we go again. This is a really short chapter but the good news is that there are no warnings.

Steve and Bucky were both past the gates when the final explosion ripped through the sky, the shock wave sending both of them to the ground, searing heat at their backs as the whole factory was engulfed in flame. Bucky took a shuddering breath of the cold night air, enjoying how it filled his lungs in place of the smoke and the stench of burning metal and plastic. _They’d made it_.

A low whistle came from a gap in the trees up ahead, and Dugan’s face appeared round one of the trunks. Bucky didn’t think he’d ever been so glad to see that man’s face. He pulled himself up, still running on adrenaline, and made his way over to where Dugan was waiting.

“Son of a bitch,” Dugan muttered, still wearing his damn hat.

“That’s Sergeant Son of a Bitch to you, Dugan,” Bucky shot back, easy as anything, as though the last time they’d seen each other it hadn’t involved Bucky being dragged off to the lab. They didn’t hug; Dugan slapped one of his huge hands onto Bucky’s arm just above his elbow, and then he looked over to where Steve was standing awkwardly behind Bucky, as though not sure where to put himself.

“We’re all up here,” Dugan said to him, jerking his head, and then all three of them were moving through the trees, the ground squelching beneath Bucky’s boots.

Dugan moved slowly, using touch to find his way because it was absolutely pitch dark in the dead of night. The roaring fire behind them hindered them rather than helped, sending long shadows and distorting the forest before them. Steve didn’t seem to be having any problems, moving confidently behind Bucky, and Bucky could hear him breathing as they moved, filing away that uncomfortable thought for later.

Dugan let out another low whistle, waiting for the answer before pressing forward, and then they were in a clearing along with… wow. Bucky stood and stared. There were a couple of tanks and a truck, and standing around in various groups for as far as he could see were soldiers. As they came into view, all the men turned to look, staring at him, no, at _Steve_ , with an air of expectation. 

The groups of men went back and back until Bucky lost count. There was a low murmur in the air, a little light from where some people had found torches, along with the headlamps on the truck casting a glow across the ground.

Bucky swallowed, suddenly feeling light-headed. All these men had been in the factory with him and now they were out here in the middle of hell knew where – and that was an excellent point, Bucky had no damn clue where on the map he was – while the factory was rapidly turning to ashes. Hydra could be anywhere, and then there was the actual German army which was bound to be around here somewhere.

“So what’s the exit plan?” An English officer stepped forward, a lieutenant judging by his stripes. Bucky recognised him from the cages in the factory. Other men shuffled forward, listening closely to the next stage of their escape plan.

_Yeah, Steve, what’s the exit plan_ – Bucky looked over to the tall man in the leather jacket who was apparently Steve Rogers. Bucky wanted to laugh in a way that wasn’t funny at all. He looked around the clearing at all these men, looking to Steve for the next stage of the plan. They couldn’t know that Steve fucking Rogers had never had a plan in his life. He just leapt in fists first, and the rest could go to hell. The fact that he’d appeared in the deepest part of Bucky’s nightmares, springing out of the ground from nowhere, was just further proof of this as far as Bucky was concerned.

But Steve was fumbling with the pocket of his jacket, Bucky watching with fascination.

“I have this thing,” Steve said, looking straight at Bucky like he was the only one there. “Stark gave it to me – ah!” 

_Stark? As in Howard Stark? Flying car that didn’t actually fly, Howard Stark?_

Whatever it was suddenly came free – a black box, almost radio shaped. For a second, Bucky thought it might actually be a radio, but then Steve swore. Bucky looked at the black item in Steve’s hands, and then at the large bullet hole through the middle of it. Typical. 

“Right,” Steve stared at the broken item in his hand. Whatever kind of radio it might once have been, it was clearly useless now. There was a shift in the silence around them as however many men there were began to get uneasy.

“Ok,” Steve’s voice was louder now, head up and projecting forward, and it was so Steve it was disorientating. “The Italian border is thirty miles away, and the camp another ten or so miles beyond that.”

Bucky felt his mouth fall open because how the hell did Steve know that? And Italian border meant that Bucky must either be in Austria which you may as well call Germany, or possibly Yugoslavia, and neither of those countries was a good option. Then Steve went and pulled something else out of his pocket, small and round like an old fashioned pocket watch. Steve flicked it open and then cast a glance around the clearing. A compass, then.

“We’ll head south-west, get as far as we can,” and then he was moving forward, the crowd parting for him automatically, like it was perfectly natural for them to follow Steve’s leadership. Bucky watched as Steve set about organising people into groups, sending people forward, organising a group of scouts on point. They set about sorting the injured onto the few transport vehicles available, and people were actually listening and obeying and it was giving Bucky a headache.

He’d always known Steve was a somebody; the guy had a heart too big for the body he’d been given. His mouth had always been too big, too, but Bucky had sort of loved him for that as well. 

Now it seemed like the world had finally caught up. The men organised themselves as directed, and soon they were all moving slowly through the forest.

They would march for a few hours, try to get as far away as possible, but they’d need to stop eventually, post some look-outs while others took some rest. For now it was just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other. Bucky found himself at the head of the column, watching Steve who moved with so much confidence, looking back at Bucky every so often with a small smile.

He really hoped this was real. He hoped to all high heaven that Steve was really here, even if Bucky didn’t understand how, or why Steve was now taller and broader than him. He hoped it wasn’t all some fever dream, a hallucination before he finally died on Zola’s table.

+

Thirty miles to the border, 400 men in varying states of health, and the place was crawling with Germans and Hydra. 

Steve looked over to where Bucky was walking just behind him, clutching onto a rifle that had been passed to him by one of the others as though his life depended upon it. Steve couldn’t help but smile. Bucky was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, if anyone wanted to come say hi, I'm on tumblr at [lynchy8](http://lynchy8.tumblr.com)
> 
> Sorry it's such a short chapter this time around, the next one will be longer - promise :)
> 
> Til next time!  
> BTW have I mentioned how grateful I am for Sarah and Claire? You guys are the best x


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bucky didn’t trust him, or didn’t trust his reality, or otherwise just needed some sort of validation, and Steve would answer a million questions all the way back to Italy, if it would satisfy Bucky’s mistrust."
> 
> The long march back to safety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps, sorry for the delay. The run up to Christmas is really taking its toll.
> 
> So, there's a very brief allusion to the physical chastisement of a child. Otherwise, there's just a ton of angst.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve walked over to where Bucky was sitting under a tree, shuffling against the trunk in an effort to get comfortable. Bucky looked up at him, blinking in the darkness. Now that they had several miles between them and the burning Hydra factory, Steve took a good look at him. Bucky was thinner, stubbled and dishevelled as one would expect from a period in captivity, and there was something very dark about his eyes. But Steve couldn’t help but feel warm just from standing beside him. All the same, Bucky looked up at him with a shuttered expression, as though they were strangers rather than two friends who had shared so much more.

“How about you and I sit back to back,” Steve suggested, really hoping Bucky would agree. They’d always been close so it was hell to see him like this, his expression closed and unreadable. “Reckon I’m more comfortable than a tree trunk.”

“Reckon you are,” Bucky echoed in agreement after a few moments of thought. He shifted away from the tree, making room for Steve to sit down beside him, and then they both shuffled until they were back to back, pressing against each other in the darkness. 

Steve knew he ran warm these days, and hoped that he could finally return a few of the thousand favours he owed the man at his back for keeping him warm through the Brooklyn winters. Steve found himself almost missing those days; sure, they’d been so cold the window panes had frozen, and the cold got in his lungs like nothing else which had made each breath hurt. But it had been simpler then. He’d fitted neatly under Bucky’s chin, and they’d just had to worry about making rent that month. There hadn’t been the war. Even after the attack and all the changes that had brought with it, they’d always had each other.

“So you’re really him, huh?” Bucky’s voice broke into Steve’s reminiscing, bringing him out of their cold Brooklyn apartment and back into the colder and damper Austrian forest. 

“Buck?” Steve wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Behind him, Bucky huffed.

“You’re Steve,” came the flat response. Bucky sounded completely bone tired and it hurt Steve’s heart to hear him.

“Yeah, Buck, I’m Steve,” he replied softly. For a moment there was silence, but Steve knew there was more to come. The whole world had changed and there was no way Bucky wasn’t going to have something to say about it.

“What did they do to you?” There was a hard undercurrent to Bucky’s tone, and Steve could tell he was boiling. Not that Steve could blame him. After all, he’d signed himself up to a government program for scientific experimentation. Bucky was going to blow his top at him when he heard all the details; all he knew right now was what Steve had told him and what he could see with his own eyes.

“Er, maybe we should talk about it when we get back to camp,” Steve evaded, because a row could wait. They’d only just left that horrible factory behind. Let them concentrate on the walk back to friendly soil first. Bucky snorted, but let it lie.

Around them, the forest breathed softly. Steve could hear someone tinkering with one of the tanks they’d managed to swipe on their way out. There were low rumbles of conversation where some soldiers couldn’t sleep. Plenty of heartbeats thrumming rhythmically, grateful with the expectation of seeing another dawn in a few hours’ time.

“What was your Ma’s name?” Bucky’s voice sliced through the dark once more, sounding casual, as though he hadn’t spent just as many Sunday dinners at the Rogers’ table as he had at his own. Like he hadn’t attended her funeral, unable to hold Steve’s hand in public and so settling for placing a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Sarah,” Steve replied, surprised at how his voice caught, even now. He hadn’t expected to think about her here, so far from home. He’d been so focussed on finding Bucky and getting them both out alive. But her memory was sharp, like lemon juice on a cut.

“And where’d we meet?”

Steve smiled, in spite of himself. Bucky didn’t trust him, or didn’t trust his reality, or otherwise just needed some sort of validation, and Steve would answer a million questions all the way back to Italy, if it would satisfy Bucky’s mistrust.

“St Josephs. Harry Fink was trying to kick the snot out of me so you punched him in the face and broke his glasses.”

Sister Mary Agnes had dragged both Bucky and Fink off to her office, Steve following her protesting all the way until she snapped at him that, unless he wanted to come into the office too – and they all knew what that meant – then he’d go home at once. 

Steve hadn’t gone home; he’d waited round the corner for Bucky to come back out, hand pressed under his armpit. At sight of Steve waiting for him, Bucky had broken into a grin. They’d walked home together, sitting out on the stoop of Bucky’s apartment building. Bucky seemed to wear the stripe on his palm with pride, shrugging his shoulders and proclaiming that it wasn’t his first “and according to Sister Mary Agnes, t’won’t be my last” and whenever Steve thought back on it, he wondered if he’d started to love Bucky right then.

“And in 1940?” and there was definitely a challenge in Bucky’s voice. This was what they’d been building up to; something only they knew. For 1940 was 366 days long, but Steve couldn’t fail to know what Bucky was asking him. He sighed, leaning back into Bucky. 

“I got attacked whilst out in the alley behind our apartment. I was, uh, rescuing a cat,” and Steve smiled, even though there was nothing to smile about; he could have died or worse – and some might argue that “worse” had actually happened. But still he smiled because Bucky had given him hell.

Silence settled between them, easier than before. Steve heard Bucky’s breath even out, felt his whole body relax against Steve at his back, and Steve wondered whether he’d gone to sleep, but then he spoke out once more.

“Damn cat’ll outlive us all”

+

Bucky lay face down in the cot nearest the door of the tent he’d been waved towards once cleared by medical. The last forty-eight hours felt like they’d happened to someone else. There had been a few hours kip snatched just before dawn, but then they’d walked – you couldn’t call it a march, the pace they were going, not when each step took serious effort and seemed like a miracle – they’d walked for hours and hours in a south-easterly direction. Steve had a compass which was marginally more useful than that transponder thing he had been carrying.

There was no path, they just carved out a direction and hoped they didn’t run into any trouble – trouble being anything from a German patrol to Hydra. After the horrors of Schmidt and Zola, it was almost easy to forget that there was a war between countries being fought, and it took quite a while to cross the border over in to Italy. Even after crossing the border, you couldn’t be sure of your safety. The Allied pocket was small. Sure, the Italian army might have surrendered, but Bucky knew from experience that the Germans didn’t go down so easy. 

Still, in the late afternoon of the second day, they’d made it to the camp. That was when Bucky had felt the worst, because if he was going to wake up it would be now, back on the damn table with Zola leaning over him and taking notes about how interesting he was. But he didn’t wake up; there were cheers and a flutter of activity. There was an imposing guy who reeked of authority, even without Bucky spotting the eagle on his shoulder, eyes burning into Steve as he took Steve’s report. 

Then there was the woman, stunning and vibrant, looking at Steve like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him or punch him, and boy did Bucky know how that felt. While the Colonel had walked off, barking orders for the head of aerial reconnaissance to report to him at once because “how hard were they damn well looking?!” the rest of them were left at the mercy of medics, shuffling them into cots and taking their blood pressure. 

Which was how Bucky ended up here, declared healthy – or at least in no immediate danger of death – and feeling like he could sleep for seventy years.

“Bucky?”

Bucky groaned because _Jesus fuck just leave him alone for five damn minutes please_ , just so he could work out which way was up. He wished the world would stop spinning beneath him just long enough for him to get a grip.

“Go ‘way,” he murmured into what apparently passed for a pillow out here, although it sure beat anything he’d been sleeping on in the last few weeks.

He could hear Steve pause in the doorway of the tent, because of course it was Steve. No doubt once he was finished staring at that English dame, he would have noticed Bucky had been whisked off to be processed along with everybody else. All the same, even though he couldn’t see Steve from where his face was smushed into the rough fabric of his cot, just being in his presence was somehow soothing.

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” Steve was using that tone that meant he was lying through his teeth. He wasn’t going anywhere unless Bucky physically pushed him out the tent, and even then the jury was still out. “But I was kinda under the impression you wanted to yell at me.”

Bastard. Using that against him when Bucky was so damn tired.

“Too tired to yell,” Bucky mumbled, lying out of his backside and fooling no one. For a few moments there was silence in the tent before Bucky growled and rolled over.

“But seriously what the hell, Steve?!”

There he was, all tall like when he’d first appeared at the Hydra factory. Broad shoulders and long legs, arms that looked like they could rip their way into a tank. If Bucky squinted, he could catch echoes of the boy from Brooklyn, the man he had a loved through thick, thin and even thinner, in the line of his jaw and the firm edge in his eyes. 

“I…” Steve jutted out that jaw now, like he was still short and skinny and justifying his latest escapades out on the streets that had somehow ended up with him getting punched for his troubles.

“Joined the army, yeah you said,” Bucky retorted, dripping with sarcasm, feeling a stab of satisfaction when Steve shut his mouth.

Damn, Steve was such a fucking idiot. Bucky knew he shouldn’t have left him at that damn enlistment office, trying his luck because Steve always had to do the right thing. Except he’d really done it now, hadn’t he. Trussed up and bulked up and with a damn star on his chest, and Bucky just ached so much, his head swimming and body throbbing, and he’d had just about enough. 

It was the sensation of being safe that finally pushed him over the edge; safe was just a subjective thing and Bucky wasn’t sure such a thing even existed anymore. Steve had always been his constant through his darkest days. While he’d been on that damn table he’d been dreaming of home, of Steve. But that reality was gone, and it almost felt like it might not ever have been there in the first place. So he let rip, and didn’t give a shit who heard him. He gave Steve both barrels, the pig-headed fool, throwing himself into the army, not even two damn brain cells to rub together, thinking he could hold a tin shield and save the world.

God knows what he was saying, all this anger and grief just exploding out of him because Steve scared him; that a man could be one way one day, and completely different the next. 

And Steve was moving, crossing the tent to where Bucky was somehow on his feet, and Bucky didn’t even remember getting off the cot. He was looking up – fucking _up_ – at Steve, warm and breathing. Bucky’s dreams were filled with a shorter, colder body, with lungs that were still, and a reflection that was hard to see. A heart that had been silent, but then Steve was grabbing Bucky’s hand and Bucky let him – let that huge warm hand fold round his own, drawing it up to Steve’s shirt.

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice was the same, quiet and cutting through Bucky’s angry tones. Bucky fell silent at once, as though spellbound, caught up in those blue eyes.

Then he felt it.

Fuck. Holy fuck.

Bucky’s fingers vibrated in the silence of the tent. _Bah-DUM bah-DUM bah-DUM_ his heartbeat – Steve’s fucking heart - was beating beneath Bucky’s touch. For a whole minute, Bucky couldn’t speak.

He remembered sitting by Steve’s bed a hundred times, praying for that heart to keep going, to not give up. He’d been there when it _had_ stopped and yet Steve had carried on, almost out of sheer punk fool-hardiness. Steve’s heart hadn’t so much as fluttered in three years.

“Shit,” Bucky stuttered eloquently, and the soft crook of a smile he got in return just made him want to kiss Steve hard. 

So he did.

It was like coming home. Steve still tasted the same, and as Bucky breathed he thought of stiff bedsheets in winter and the scorching heat of Brooklyn pavements and the gentle spring rains pattering the broken window of their apartment. Bucky fisted his fingers into Steve’s shirt, like he wanted to crawl inside him.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped, pulling back momentarily before kissing Bucky back just as hard. “Someone might…”

“Don’t care,” Bucky breathed, and he meant it. Fuck Italy and the whole American army and Adolf fucking Hitler himself because Bucky wanted this, wanted it so damn bad and he’d earnt it.

Steve was hot and breathless, and damn but Bucky wanted Steve to bite him. He wanted Steve to kiss down his jaw, to that spot just below the line of his collar. He wanted to feel the sharp heady sting that he had missed so bad. 

His breath hitched as Steve’s teeth grazed the stubble on his jaw, and Bucky whimpered slightly as he dropped his head back, aware of the way Steve was holding him in place. _Please, please, please…_

“Why, Agent Carter!”

Dammit, that was Dugan’s voice. Steve sprang away from Bucky like Bucky was on fire or something, both of them panting hard. 

“Dugan,” Carter’s crisp tone responded, both voices sounding just outside the tent. “Have you seen Captain Rogers?”

Captain Rogers was currently standing with his mouth slightly open, lips kissed almost as red as the flush running down his neck and beneath his shirt. His hair was askew in a way that couldn’t possibly be blamed on anything innocent.

“Well ma’am, I don’t rightly know,” Dugan answered, and the guy was a shit liar and as subtle as a fucking tank, but it was valuable seconds that Steve needed to pull himself together, eyes regaining their focus.

“Sarge? Is Captain Rogers in there with you?”

Bucky suddenly felt bone tired, letting his legs go from underneath him. God, what had they been doing?! They would never have been so rash back home. They could have been caught – _anyone_ could have walked in and seen them.

Steve was moving, brushing a hand through his bangs in a gesture that belonged a world away in the safety of a droughty Brooklyn apartment. He dropped a kiss on Bucky’s forehead, murmuring a promise that he would be right back, and then he straightened his shirt before stepping out of the tent and into the light. 

Bucky watched the tent flap flutter, before slumping back to his original position face down on the cot. Sighing heavily, he wished sleep to swallow him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks so much for your support.
> 
> There's going to be a short break for Christmas now because I'm going away and there's this weird expectation where I'm supposed to be... "sociable".
> 
> Sorry to leave you on a bit of a cliff hanger :-p
> 
> Also, that bit in TFA where they're all "the final aerial reconnaissance is back" implying loads had been sent out... and they somehow missed several hundred soldiers marching in a long column with a load of swiped tanks in enemy garb heading in their direction.... just how hard WERE they looking?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was a bed with a mattress and sheets that were starched and worn and it was the best damn thing Bucky had seen since New York and he was determined to make the most of it."
> 
> Steve and Bucky repair back to London where there are plans afoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello - I hope you all had a good christmas and new year.
> 
> I successfully negotiated "family" and "being sociable" and am now able to return to the comfort of my laptop to bring you the next chapter.
> 
> I don't believe there are any warnings for this chapter, though of course please let me know if there's anything you want tagged.

The next day passed in a blur, starting with the reveille; Bucky jerked awake in shock, disorientated to find himself under canvas just before dawn, when he had been dreaming of stifling, drowning darkness. Bucky followed everybody else, going through the usual routines of washing and eating; some of the units were preparing to set out for manoeuvres, but most of the guys didn’t have anywhere to be. It wasn’t hard to spot the Kreischberg survivors, most of whom belonged to units that were long gone or just plain didn’t exist anymore. Hell, not all of them even belonged to the American army, and Bucky idly wondered how they were going to sort that out in a tiny pocket of northern Italy. That was way above his paygrade – Bucky was more than content to sit around with the others in groups, waiting to be told what next. 

After… whatever it was that had happened the day before, Steve was nowhere in sight, presumably called away by the powers-that-be to give account of what had happened back in Austria. Bucky didn’t envy him that job one bit. 

News broke mid-morning that a whole bunch of planes were on the way and they were all being flown back to England that day. Bucky knew better than to trust camp gossip – he’d believe it when he saw it – but found himself eating his words when they were all organised into groups. What followed was a couple of very boring hours waiting around, being issued with rations, more waiting around, and then finally being herded onto the planes. 

By that time it was late afternoon. As the plane accelerated, lifting off the runway up into the air, Bucky held his breath, because it would be just his damn luck to get killed on some rickety plane taking off, miles from Hydra and the German army and not a bullet in sight. But they levelled out just fine, the engines humming happily, taking them back west. 

It was completely silent in the back of the plane, the men around him all wearing the same rather shell-shocked expression. Even though you realistically knew there was a chance of being killed or captured, no one ever thought it would happen to them, and nothing could have prepared them for the Hydra factory. Then some guy in an American flag had turned up and now they were being flown out, back to England; and presumably from England a few of them would be back Stateside before Christmas, maybe even Thanksgiving, depending on how quickly the papers came through. 

Bucky would put good money on it that most of his companions were thinking about home, their mothers and wives and girlfriends, thinking of the telegrams that would be going out shortly, spreading the news that they were no longer MIA. And yeah, his own Ma would be getting one of those soon. And once he landed he’d write a few lines in his own hand to her, confirming what the army would have already told her; that he was alive. 

But if he had any say in the matter at all, he wouldn’t be going home. For one thing, what was the damn point? It might seem unfair to his Ma, but the only person worth going back home for wasn’t even there – and that thought made the bile rise in his throat. Steve, who had apparently swapped brain cells for muscles, was here; and so that’s where Bucky was going to stay, coz clearly he couldn’t be trusted on his own. Why was it, whenever Bucky turned his back, that kid was running off doing something stupid? He remembered distinctly the last time he’d seen Steve at that damn expo, remembered telling him not to do anything stupid until he got back. Apparently he’d been unclear.

Not that Steve was with him on that plane. No doubt Captain America was on some private plane with his new best buddy Howard freaking Stark. Or, more likely, Agent Carter, and that was something else Bucky was going to add to the “I’m not thinking about that right now” list.

The sun was setting when they landed, touching down with a bump on a grassy landing strip. Then it was a matter of getting off the plane in the semi darkness; as Bucky stepped out he could make out neat rows of barracks and the tree line, and behind that the rolling hills that had been the backdrop to his brief stint in England before shipping out the first time. The air here was much colder than in Italy, his breath billowing into the evening air. 

Bucky felt quite detached from it all. He went where everyone else went, across the field towards the barracks. Came to attention, saluted as appropriate, queued up and gave his name, rank and serial number when he was asked. This was easy, this was familiar.

+

Colonel Phillips had left for England sometime around midnight after Steve’s somewhat dramatic return from Austria, muttering and grumbling. He left Peggy behind, instructing her to “accompany Captain Rogers” on the next plane out. So it looked as though Steve would be getting that promotion after all.

Of course, convincing “Captain Rogers” to leave on the next plane was another matter altogether. For someone who had been so desperate to join the army, Steve was terrible at taking orders. He also had absolutely no appreciation for the amount of paperwork his little jaunt into Austria had caused. She would do it again in a heartbeat, but Colonel Philips hadn’t quite forgiven her yet, and he’d made it abundantly clear who would be sorting it all out. 

But of course Steve didn’t want to just fly out of Austria, leaving his friend behind, not to mention all the other men he’d lead back over the border to safety. But the fact remained that what was left of the 107th was still stationed here, and so it just wasn’t possible to whisk Sergeant Barnes away (and yes, Peggy was well aware of what Steve thought about regulations but it still wasn’t going to happen). 

So, with solemn promises that they would liaise with Barnes back in England, where all the paperwork would be in place before the Sergeant’s plane even landed, she persuaded a decidedly unwilling Steve to board the plane just before dawn. 

It was noticeable just how differently Steve held himself from before. The excursion into the Hydra factory had done wonders for settling Steve into his skin. She’d wanted to strangle that senator for what he’d done, putting Steve on a stage; and it was such a pleasure to see Steve holding his head up like that determined guy she’d first met at Lehigh. He’d been chosen for more than what the men around him had believed of him and now he’d proved it and she couldn’t help feel extremely proud for him.

All the same, as they settled into their seats on the plane, feeling it lift beneath them, Steve didn’t look all that happy, and Peggy sense that it wasn’t entirely to do with leaving Sergeant Barnes.

“So,” she said, bracingly, smoothing down her skirt. “Parachuting into enemy territory seems to have worked out all right for you.”

Steve pulled the same face he’d pulled during their conversation back at the camp before all this had happened, which was interesting. Peggy sighed because she wasn’t going to spend three hours pulling teeth.

“All right,” she sighed, sitting back in her seat. “Tell me all about it.”

She thought it might be to do with Barnes; maybe he hadn’t taken Steve’s transformation so well – there was clearly a complicated history there, and she wasn’t fooled for a second by the whole “my ol’ pal” routine. Or maybe something more had happened between him and Schmidt than what Steve had told them the night before – though what more there could be, she couldn’t begin to imagine, considering the first thing Steve had mentioned was the fact that Schmidt apparently had a bright red skull, something Doctor Erskine had failed to mention in his notes.

So she was surprised when he took a deep breath and continued to fiddle with his fingers as he said…

“I don’t think the serum worked.”

Peggy blinked a few times because it was the last thing she had expected him to say. She couldn’t help but look him up and down, that sweet Brooklyn boy flashing in her mind’s eye.

“What makes you say that?” she replied carefully, genuinely curious. 

Steve looked up at her with those deep blue eyes of his, his face open and fearful, so different from the calm soldier who had returned from Austria with four hundred men in tow.

“You got a mirror?”

She frowned, raising her eyebrow, but Steve’s face was impassive, and as it happened she had a compact tucked about her person. So she produced it and handed it over. He held it up in front of them both, hand steady. She looked over to him, wondering what this was all about.

“Look,” he said simply, nodding his head towards the small circular mirror. 

It took her a minute, but then she gasped. She could see her left eye, the side of her face pale against the wave of her hair. And then… 

Peggy reached out, taking control of the mirror, bringing it closer and angling it so that she disappeared from the frame completely, turning it towards the apparently empty chair beside her. 

“If you squint,” Steve sounded miserable, “then sometimes a blurry version of me appears. But otherwise, it’s just like it was before.” Sure enough, if she concentrated really hard, Steve’s image popped into view, fuzzy and vague as though distorted by thick glass.

Peggy was stunned. She closed the compact with a click and tucked it away. A heavy silence hung between them for a few moments because really, what could one say to that?

“At first, everything was fine,” Steve sighed. Rubbing his face. “I thought I’d been cured. I could see myself in the mirror, got used to the sound of my own heartbeat, you know?”

Peggy didn’t know, but Steve wasn’t looking at her, lost in his thoughts. She couldn’t imagine how he must have felt.

“But then, I noticed a few aches and pains, a few of the old symptoms. Then I ate some garlic a few months back,” and at the memory, Steve screwed up his face. Peggy’s mind began to whirr through all her knowledge and experience to see if there was something, anything that might help, but she came up blank. Vampires were rare enough, and whatever this was, it was likely Steve was the only one in the whole world; a human-vampire hybrid. Neither one nor the other. What a mess.

Peggy reached out to place her hand over his, filled with compassion. Steve stared down at it for a moment, before sighing.

“I know it’s ungrateful,” Steve sighed. “But I don’t even know what I am anymore.”

+

Bucky wasn’t sure what to do with the silence in the car. Of course Steve had been at the airfield barracks, loitering anxiously outside the main buildings as they’d all filed past. Bucky was ordered to step out of line, confirming his name, rank and number to the guy with the clipboard who didn’t look at all happy with being ordered around by Agent Carter who stood beside him, mouth set in a firm line.

Then it was a matter of getting into the shiny black car that was waiting for them, all three of them squeezing into the back, and settling into the uncomfortable silence.

He couldn’t exactly look out the window; the sun was down and there were no street lamps because of the black out. The car went slowly down the lanes, although they didn’t meet any other vehicles. Steve was sitting on the far left, wedged against the window and practically vibrating out of his skin. Agent Carter sat between them, hands folded neatly in her lap and staring straight ahead, apparently calm and unruffled by the tight squeeze in the back, though not wishing to sully the silence with meaningless small talk.

The two in the front remained quiet, concentrating on navigating the English country lines in total darkness without headlamps. The town, when it came, loomed suddenly out of the darkness, harsh grey lines in the black that faded as they passed. 

It was warm in the car, with five people pressed together, and combined with the soft thrum of the engine and the bone-deep exhaustion, Bucky must have dropped off at some point because he jerked awake when the car came to a halt.

The torch that was produced was barely enough to find the door handle, but they somehow exited the car, even though Bucky was stiff-limbed and foggy from sleep. He could tell they’d made it to London; the air had a particular sooty tang to it in comparison to the fresh greenery of the countryside. 

Agent Carter brushed out her skirt before bidding them good night, and Steve, the great dolt, gawped for a moment before his brain kicked into gear because _of course_ she wouldn’t be staying with them. Bucky felt his cheeks twitching up into a smile, and the old familiar sensation of wanting to knock Steve’s ankle with his foot. After a bit more senseless burbling from Steve, Agent Carter smoothly stepped back into the car which promptly purred away.

Bucky squinted up at the red-brick building, surprised by how much he could make out in the darkness. It was similar to the building he’d lodged in briefly before being shipped out. With the men at war and the children evacuated to the country, there were plenty of rooms to house American GIs.

He had no idea where in London they might be; the cobbled street didn’t offer any clues, and any street signs there might have been had long-since been painted over, or even carted off to be turned into spitfires. But it was a house with a front door, and hopefully that meant a bed, and that was enough for Bucky.

It was owned by a lovely middle-aged lady who introduced herself as Mrs Currie, and she reminded Bucky of some of the Irish ladies who worked down the laundry back home, but with a strong east London accent. She led them on a merry dance up and down the rickety stairs of her building, the old radiators with the pipes that groaned, and the “privy” outside in the yard.

Bucky’s room, on the second floor, contained a washstand, a gentleman’s dresser and a bed, an actual bed set against the wall. Mrs Currie left him to it, after a gentle speech about blackout curtains and the time breakfast would be served in the morning. Then she bid him good night, dragging Steve off to show him his room on the next floor up.

It took him no time at all to strip out of his uniform, casting it over the wooden chair by the washstand rather than hanging it up, because he needed to be in that bed right the fuck now. Bucky didn’t bother holding back the groan of pure pleasure as he sank face first down on the bed, even though the sheets didn’t smell quite right, and the pillow was thin and his body knew that it wasn’t home, this wasn’t _his_ bed. But it wasn’t a cot in the field or a bedroll in a foxhole. And when Steve’s gentle tap at the door came ten minutes later, Bucky ignored it.

Bucky screwed his eyes tight shut and pressed his face even deeper into the thin pillow, because he knew he was being mean. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how it felt, not wanting to let someone out of your sight when they had been within spitting distance of death. But he was just too tired. And besides, he knew the look that had been on Steve’s face for the entirety of the journey from the air field. He wanted to talk, and whatever he wanted to talk about he couldn’t raise in front of Agent Carter which meant it was probably about what had happened in the tent and Bucky just… couldn’t. Maybe in the morning.

It was a bed with a mattress and sheets that were starched and worn and it was the best damn thing Bucky had seen since New York and he was determined to make the most of it. It was less than five minutes later after Steve’s tap at the door that Bucky wasn’t faking being asleep anymore.

+

Not that the Germans were going to let them sleep.

The air raid siren tore into the peaceful darkness of Bucky’s slumber, pulling him back to consciousness with a groan because fuck’s sake it was warm where he was – felt like it was the first time he’d been warm in years. It was tempting to stay where he was, air raid be damned.

There’d been a few raids back before he’d shipped out, both in London and when they’d been in a barracks on the south coast which always took a hammering, almost as bad as the city because of all the dock yards. He knew that by this stage in the war, the dash for the shelter had turned into more of a resigned march. Many just stayed put and took their chances, rather than leaving the warmth of their homes to go sit in the shelter, and just for a moment Bucky was one of them.

Steve had other ideas. Competing with the siren, he started pounding on the door, shouting Bucky’s name as though the house was already on fire, and _jeez_ , Bucky needed him to cut that out right the fuck now. 

“I can hear the siren just fine, Rogers,” Bucky yelled as he pulled on his shirt and trousers, cursing at the shiver that ran through him because the room was cold. He opened the door before Steve knocked it down with his banging, grunting at the “come on, Buck,” that greeted him, and it struck him then just how new Steve was to this whole war thing.

There was a shelter in the back yard. Mrs Currie was down there already, holding the blanket aside so the others could scurry in, and if Bucky thought it had been cold back up in the bedroom, that was nothing compared to the wall of icy air that met him as he stepped out into the night. He could hear murmured voices as other people left their homes in favour of chilly metal structures half buried in their gardens.

Inside the shelter, there were already three other guys, perched on the little bench set along the wall – other soldiers, Bucky guessed – but no one he recognised. They nodded as Steve and Bucky shuffled inside, and Bucky couldn’t help but think how young they looked. The silence was awkward, especially once Steve sat down. Bucky was in shirt, trousers and braces, same as the other lads who had been dragged from their beds, but it looked like Steve hadn’t even got as far as sleeping, still fully dressed and looking imposing in his uniform. But then came the low hum of the planes and the first distant explosions. 

For all he’d been through, Bucky knew how to fix silence. Rather than stare at the corks in the walls, counting the seconds as the bombs whistled down, he patted his pockets and drew out the smokes, offering them round. It broke the ice, one of the other guys producing matches, and the conversation grew from there.

They were from Connecticut, fresh off the boat and boots still chafing at the ankles, no doubt. They said they were waiting for deployment over to the south of Italy because of course the Allies were still throwing everything they had into trying to break through the Winter Line.

“Double your socks,” Bucky said casually, like it was nothing, like Italy didn’t contain a myriad of horrors. “It’s one huge mountain.” Steve sat stiffly at his side, nothing to bring to the conversation, staring at Bucky with a pinched expression, and Bucky just wanted him to knock it off, already, he wasn’t broken and he didn’t need Steve looking at him like that.

As the ground shook from another explosion, much closer this time, Mrs Currie suddenly produced a sherry bottle from under the straw mattress of the bunk bed she was perched on. She passed it round, because while it might have been kept for a Christmas nip in the past, it might as well be put to good use now, especially as it was one of the last things not on ration, not to mention the grumble of the planes and the whistling of the bombs. Bucky took his turn, the sherry burning the back of his throat as he passed it to Steve, and he wondered how London had done this for so long. 

It was different to being out in mainland Europe. At least out there they gave you a gun so you could fire back at the assholes trying to kill you. Here you were just a sitting duck, listening to the echo of the anti-aircraft gun, nothing to do but sit and pray and wait for your turn. But with the smokes and the sherry, their strange little group made it work, sitting out the air raid into the early hours of the morning.

The all clear finally sounded just after 4am. There was dew on the grass as they headed back to the house which was, mercifully, still standing. The orange horizon hinted that others hadn’t been so lucky. Mrs Currie clucked and sighed, shaking her head. It would be the docks, of course; Woolwich and Arsenal had been popular targets since ’41. Bucky didn’t know what to say to that so he kept quiet, feeling tired and grateful that he didn’t have anywhere to be that day. Steve, on the other hand, had to go into town for more of those exciting meetings. 

Their eyes met briefly as they climbed the stairs, Steve opening his mouth as though fully intending to have that conversation he was so desperate to have, and Bucky braced himself for Steve inviting himself into Bucky’s room, or maybe dragging him upstairs. But instead, Steve gave him a small smile, just a quirk of the lips, dropping his head so his bangs fell over his eyes as usual, and it was nice that some things, at least, hadn’t changed.

“See you tomorrow, Buck,” Steve reached out to grab Bucky’s shoulder, hand warm and firm. Bucky felt about two feet high, but so, so grateful that Steve wasn’t pushing him, was just allowing him to pretend that everything was ok just for a few more hours. 

+

London had certainly taken a beating since Bucky had been here last. Of course, she’d always been a patched up old lady, with her taped-up windows and piles of sandbags. Bucky kind of loved the city for the way she carried herself, proud of her war scars.

Mr Currie had died in the last war, according to the picture and accompanying medal on the mantelpiece in Mrs Currie’s drawing room. However, judging by the plate of breakfast she set in front of Bucky, Mrs Currie must be having a wild affair with the butcher. For one thing, unless Bucky was mistaken, those sausages contained actual pork as opposed to the muck and guts the army had been feeding him. And the eggs weren’t powdered either, which was just unheard of luxury. Bucky had gawped at her and she’d given him a rather smug huff of satisfaction before stalking back to the kitchen. Bucky liked Mrs Currie; women like her were keeping England going.

He couldn’t stay inside; outside the city was awake and carrying on, the cold winter sun making its best effort to break through the cloud, and Bucky found his feet itchy for some fresh air. He took the bus rather than the Tube, not really in the mood for rattling around in the dark. Like an overgrown kid, he went upstairs to sit on the top deck, enjoying the novelty and getting a great view of the city. He got off at Piccadilly Circus, taking a moment to chuckle privately at the adverts for the National Savings Movement, because they sure weren’t as eye catching as the Captain America posters. 

From there he let his feet lead him who knew where, getting lost down narrow streets, eventually ending up at Hyde Park Corner. From there, one of the wardens pointed him in the direction of Constitution Hill which would take him back towards Buckingham Palace, and from there he should be able to find his way back to the river. 

It was a welcome contrast, the smells and sounds of the city, the cobbles beneath his feet and the anti-air craft balloons; even the boarded shop windows, the glass long gone and never replaced. It was as far away from Italy and the Hydra factory as Bucky could get without actually being back home in Brooklyn. He needed it, needed the women in their headscarves queuing round the corner at the butchers and the wardens in their white hats drinking out of tin mugs, needed all these strange yet comforting things to feel real.

Bucky walked his feet off, thinking of nothing, not even minding the few spots of rain. When his stomach started to rumble, he caught a bus back to the house. Steve still wasn’t back, and Mrs Currie was busy baking, furnishing him with a spam sandwich before chasing him out of her kitchen with empty threats that left him laughing and aching to hear his own Ma’s voice. 

There were a couple of packages waiting on his bed; a clean shirt and some standard army-issue pants and a jacket. After a wash and a shave, Bucky could almost pass for presentable, though his boots were in desperate need of some polish. It wasn’t difficult to procure the necessary brushes from Mrs Currie and he passed an industrious twenty minutes bringing the shine back. 

With nothing else to do, Bucky contented himself with reading the paper, until heavy footsteps on the stairs signalled Steve’s return, followed by a firm knock at the door. It was still strange to have to adjust his line of sight so that he was looking at Steve’s face not his chest as the man entered the room, broad-shouldered and looking unfairly handsome in his uniform. Worse than that, he was doing that shy smile thing again, ducking his head, and Bucky wanted to sweep his fingers through soft blond hair. Instead he smiled back, whistling.

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” he drawled, standing up and leaning back as though to get a better look at the man loitering in his doorway. 

“Want to come to the bar tonight, Buck?” 

“They’re called pubs, here, Rogers,” Bucky replied in lieu of an answer, and of course Steve rolled his eyes in response. He opened his mouth, no doubt ready with another witty retort, but he never got the chance as just then Mrs Currie called them all down for dinner.

+

They were a bunch of idiots, as far as Bucky was concerned. Sure, they were brave as hell, some of the best men he’d ever known. There hadn’t exactly been the time to get to know each other in the factory, but there had been an understanding, a comradery, that would never be undone. But they were still a bunch of idiots, and he wasn’t afraid of saying it out loud.

And Steve, he was the biggest damn idiot of them all. 

So much for just going down to the bar for a drink, it was a damn recruitment drive. The atmosphere was lively enough, the piano in full flow by the time they got there. The fresh influx of GIs on R&R and money to burn was doing wonders for the local economy, in the pubs at least. 

Bucky retreated to the quieter saloon, ordering a whiskey and wanting no part in what was about to happen. From his vantage point, he could see the merry band of fools, could hear them agree to Steve’s mutton-headed plan, just like Bucky knew they would. Steve was like that; he didn’t understand how powerful he was, how compelling. That damn senator back home had perhaps touched on it when he decided to market it to the American people in the name of raising money for the war effort. People had always though Bucky was the charming one, but all Steve had to do was look at you with those big blue eyes and suddenly you were marching back into war.

Bucky knocked back his whiskey, before nodding at the barman for another. 

+

They walked back to the Tube in silence, respectfully looking away from the families huddled on the platform in blankets, trying to catch some shut-eye before the inevitable raid. 

Steve was quiet, lost in his head and Bucky didn’t blame him one little bit. He’d been made a Captain, put in charge of his own crack squad on Special Operations to bring down Hydra, and on top of that, Peggy Carter had turned up dressed to kill, with a certain Steve Rogers fixed firmly in her sights.

Bucky didn’t blame her either; Steve was worth fighting dirty for, and Bucky knew he didn’t have a hope. He’d known this day would come; that someone would see Steve Rogers and be amazed, just like Bucky had been amazed his whole life. He’d been so lucky to have Steve, to love Steve for as long as he had. It had been a dangerous game, and the last few years had made it even harder. But Steve was healthy and human and…

“Hey,” Bucky nearly walked into a lamp post, Steve jerking him out of the way just in time. “You ok?”

Bucky huffed, arm burning where Steve had hold of him. He hadn’t realised where they were, and had almost walked right past their house. Steve shot him a worried look which made Bucky want to groan and roll his eyes because he couldn’t take any more of the kicked puppy expression from Steve Rogers.

“I’m fine, come on,” he griped impatiently, but made no effort to escape from Steve’s grip. Steve stared at him for a few more seconds before producing the latch key and letting them both in. They tried to be quiet on the creaky stairs, pausing briefly at Bucky’s landing, and Steve stood almost awkwardly, shuffling his feet.

“Want to… I mean…” Steve’s brow was furrowed, and Bucky wanted to smooth away the wrinkles with his thumb. He sighed, before nodding, and dammit, Steve lit up like a Christmas tree. So Bucky followed him up the stairs, trying to brace himself for the inevitable talk that Steve had been dying to have for the last day or so. 

As they stepped inside, Bucky had a quick look round the room, taking in the similar layout; the wrought-iron bedstead, wash stand, and gentleman’s dresser. But then Steve was stepping up to him, getting into his space, and Bucky felt his heart skip a little. Deft fingers found his jaw, a question in Steve’s eyes, seeking permission, and Bucky just gave in. He’d been holding himself together for too long but right now he just _wanted_.

It was like electricity going off in his brain; everything sparked – all his senses exploding at once. The kiss was hungry and desperate, Steve’s hands moving from Bucky’s jaw down to his waist and then back up to fist in his hair, like he didn’t know where to touch first. All Bucky could do was cling on tight, getting lost in their kiss. He was pressed up against the door, Steve rocking up against him, and something deep inside him growled. He nipped Steve’s lip, delighting in the resulting groan. He twisted, grazing his teeth against Steve’s jaw while baring his own throat and desperately hoping Steve got the idea. 

For a moment, Bucky worried whether Steve no longer wanted… _that_. Maybe Steve didn’t need Bucky anymore. A real tug of panic pulled at his gut because perhaps it was fucked up, but he really fucking wanted – _needed_ – to feel Steve, needed to feel those sharp teeth sink into his throat. 

“Oh fuck,” Steve groaned, and he sounded absolutely wrecked. He found that spot just under Bucky’s jaw that made Bucky’s knees go week, a flick of his tongue and then a warm puff of air as Steve breathed, making Bucky shiver. 

“Bucky… can I…?”

Bucky’s heart leapt. “I wish you would.” 

It was heaven. The old familiar sting, and the pull of his blood flowing the wrong way. Steve’s lips were warm on his throat and Bucky just felt so damn happy. He was _home_ and safe, Steve had come for him and had burnt that factory to the ground. 

With a growl, Steve hauled Bucky up into his arms and carried him over to the bed, dropping him down on the mattress and climbing on top of him, kissing Bucky every place he could, before returning to the two puncture wounds at the base of his throat.

“Buck,” he groaned, kissing up his throat. Bucky’s mind had long since left the building, and he could only grunt in reply, just so long as Steve didn’t stop. “Want you, Buck.”

“No kidding,” Bucky seemed to wake up a little, grinning up at the man above him. Steve looked suitably dishevelled, hair askew and lips kissed red. “Go on then,” he rolled their hips together to show just how on board with this he was. 

Steve kissed him again, bruising and possessive, and Bucky was like a starving man for it. Somehow they managed to strip out of their shirts down to warm flesh and _holy shit_ …

“What?” Steve suddenly looked shy, like anyone could look at the pure artwork that was his body with anything other than lust.

Bucky had loved the old Steve – his Steve – he had been beautiful just the way he was. But he hadn’t loved Steve’s illnesses, all the ways that threatened to take Steve away from him at any given moment, and Steve’s body had definitely been part of that problem. Then all Bucky’s worst fears had come true and Steve’s stuttering heart had given up all together, and Bucky had spent the last couple of years really trying not to dwell on that too much.

But holy moly, here he was with lungs that worked and a heart that beat and a body that just knocked Bucky’s socks off.

“Please tell me you have stuff,” he rasped, because hands and mouths were all very well and good, but Bucky knew what he wanted. Steve blinked down at him just for a second before looking over at the dresser.

“Damn boy scout,” Bucky teased, smacking Steve’s ass as he climbed off the bed. Steve rewarded him by glaring over his shoulder and sauntering slowly to retrieve his field ration Vaseline. Then he peeled off his pants, setting them on the chair, and Bucky’s mouth was practically watering as Steve came back to the bed.

“Just relax,” Steve murmured, gently pushing Bucky back so he was lying down, taking his time and being a damn tease as he slowly unbuttoned Bucky’s fly. _Damn_ but Bucky was going to go out of his mind if Steve didn’t touch him soon.

“Please, Stevie,” he whispered, not sure how thin the walls were. Steve hushed him, peeling him out of the last of his clothes before bending down to kiss Bucky’s thigh. Bucky tried to suppress the whine in his throat as Steve’s lips pressed a little higher.

When Steve finally wrapped his hand round Bucky’s cock, Bucky couldn’t help the punched-out sound he made because it felt so damn good. Then, _oh fuck_ , Steve swallowed Bucky down and his mouth, _his damn mouth_ … Bucky’s brain gave out because it was just too much and not enough.

“You like that, Buck?” Steve pulled off with an over-theatrical pop, reaching over for the Vaseline, before reaching to circle Bucky’s hole. He pushed inside just as he took Bucky back into his mouth again, before settling into a torturous rhythm of sucking Bucky’s brain out of his cock while stretching him open.

By the time Steve was up to three fingers, Bucky was a mess. He was biting his own forearm to keep the noise to a minimum, hips twitching with his thrust of Steve’s fingers.

“You’re beautiful like this, Buck,” Steve murmured, sitting up. “All spread out for me.”

Then the evil bastard withdrew his fingers, leaving Bucky empty, and that he could not ignore, throwing his head back against the pillow and whining. Steve shushed him once more, slicking himself up before shuffling between Bucky’s thighs.

“You good?” 

Bucky looked up into those blue eyes he knew so well, feeling desperate and empty and _why the fuck wasn’t Steve in him already_.

Apparently he had said that last bit out loud, because Steve grinned down at him, gripping Bucky’s legs before slowly starting to push in.

After that, time sort of disintegrated. 

Everything narrowed down to Steve. It had always been amazing and intense, but nothing could compare to this. It was like they were the same person, each wound up in the other. As Steve set up a punishing pace, Bucky scored grooves down his sculpted shoulders, and then Steve was kissing down his throat and that was exactly what Bucky wanted, baring his throat even more.

“Steve, please,” he moaned, and Steve gave him what he wanted, renewing the marks at the base of Bucky’s throat. 

Bucky wrapped his legs round Steve’s waist, using them to press him even deeper, vaguely aware that he was sighing and begging, heady and high and completely lost as Steve fucked him in deep slow thrusts through the mattress.

“If the siren goes now, we’re staying put,” Bucky gasped, curling his toes as he felt his orgasm build in his gut.

Steve huffed a laugh, “sure, Buck,” and Bucky didn’t believe him for a moment. No doubt he’d be dragged down to the shelter and expected to make polite conversation with Mrs Currie while bombs rained down from the skies, pretending that Steve hadn’t just been fucking him silly in one of her spare rooms.

But then Steve was pulling out and spinning him round and Bucky loved this bit; it meant Steve had lost all semblance of control and had just given in to the desire to fuck. All Bucky could do was press his face into the pillow and clench his fingers into the sheets. Sparks were running all over his body as Steve fucked into him once more. He couldn’t help but moan as Steve hit the back of his thighs with a resounding smack.

He felt the sharp prickle on the back of his neck as Steve held him in place with his teeth, just giving up and taking everything Steve had to give him. For a moment, Bucky could pretend they were back in Brooklyn in their apartment.

Bucky was starting to feel dizzy when he came, gasping Steve’s name as his whole body slumped, Steve fucking him through it. Steve followed him after only a few more thrusts, pulling out right at the last moment and coming over Bucky’s back, marking up the beautiful man beneath him possessively.

Bucky was glowing. He hadn’t felt so warm and lit up and whole in such a very long time. He curled up tight against Steve, aware that Steve was holding on to him just as tight, as though not having as much skin contact as humanly possible would prove painful. He knew they needed to get cleaned up, that they certainly shouldn’t fall asleep like that, sweaty and disgusting with cum cooling on his back and thighs. But they were ok for a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes.

Right on cue, the siren started to wail.

 _Damn the Luftwaffe_ , he thought, he wasn’t moving for anyone tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although the famous Blitz was 1941, the Germans renewed their bombing of the East End and the docklands in 1943 in retaliation for the allied bombing of Berlin and other German cities. 
> 
> Piccadilly Circus in 1943 looked like this (EDIT: there used to be a photo here but it has gone so maybe google image search Piccadilly Circus in 1943?) – with adverts on Eros for the war savings bonds. Also shown are the old double decker buses. It never really occurred to me as a native Londoner that other countries might not have double decker buses and that’s partly why we’re famous for them.
> 
> My usual gratitude to Sarah and Claire who are reading through my chapters for me. 
> 
> Til next time :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bucky asleep had always been one of Steve’s favourite things. His hair curled over his forehead which, for once, was free of frown lines. Thick black lashes rested against unusually pale cheeks, the colour still not fully returned after his time with Hydra. But he breathed deep, lying on his front, face turned into the pillow and arm cast carelessly over Steve’s waist. Just like old times."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, dear readers.
> 
> So, there is a reference to period-typical racism in this chapter, but no slurs are used.

The clock on the bedside table ticked through to 6am and Steve sighed happily at the steady warmth of having Bucky in bed beside him. It was a bit of a risk, and not just because they hadn’t gone down to the shelter during the air raid. If anyone had come in, if there had been some sort of emergency and he was needed back at HQ, then there would be absolutely no excuse for having Bucky in his bed.

But there was nothing that would induce him to send Bucky away. Pressed together like this was like a tiny slice of home. Steve was content and warm and at peace in a way he had never been all that time Bucky had been away. Steve guessed such opportunities were likely to be few and far between once they were out in the field, so he planned to take full advantage of this moment of quiet while he could. 

Bucky asleep had always been one of Steve’s favourite things. His hair curled over his forehead which, for once, was free of frown lines. Thick black lashes rested against unusually pale cheeks, the colour still not fully returned after his time with Hydra. But he breathed deep, lying on his front, face turned into the pillow and arm cast carelessly over Steve’s waist. Just like old times.

Of course Steve couldn’t help thinking back to the night before. It felt as though something important, intangible, had come to pass. Steve’s mind had been full of so much; there had been so many meetings, so many strategies to consider because war was huge. It wasn’t just a matter of marching this way or that way, or simply engaging in battles and skirmishes. Steve was behind the scenes, now, in the very fabric and construction of the war, swiftly learning just exactly _why_ it was called a world war. He had started to feel out of his depth. 

Steve had wanted this for so long but now he was here, with Peggy and the Colonel and a hundred other people all looking for his opinion, asking what he would do. It was ever so slightly terrifying because he didn’t want to let anyone down. 

And on the subject of terrifying, Steve had suffered the most disorientating moment the night before when reaching for the Vaseline. He honestly didn’t know how many times he and Bucky had done _this_. They had been together every which way for such a long time, and yet he had paused just for a second, experiencing a moment of vertigo. Back before the war, Steve remembered many occasions where he’d scowled and pouted and outright argued with Bucky because he’d wanted to be fucked for once, wanted to feel Bucky on top of him, around him. And Bucky had looked at him with wide eyes and uncertainty, as though Steve was a precious vase in need of gentle treatment, and Steve had hated it.

But last night he had sent a silent apology to the past, because now their positions were reversed. Bucky had been eyeing him from the bed, his intentions clear. He was pale and shadow-eyed, and Steve couldn’t forget the sight of him on that gurney back in Austria, fragile and so completely breakable. Steve had never felt more aware of his new body, his size, and his hands and thighs. 

All that time he’d thought Bucky had been intent on torturing him to death by drawing out the prep process, fingers moving far too slowly for his patience. Now, he too had gone agonisingly slowly, forcing himself to take his time, cataloguing every sound Bucky tried to keep silent.

Kissing Bucky felt like something empty inside was being stitched up. Something about last night had been infused with a sort of intensity that Steve couldn’t quite put words to.

It had also answered a question that had been hanging over him for some months. Steve may not necessarily _need_ blood anymore, but he damn well still wanted, and was more than capable of taking it. That morning he felt amazing, could almost feel the vibrations of the air around him. The blackout curtains were still up against the windows and, if the clock was anything to go by, it wasn’t yet dawn. Yet he could see the laces of Bucky’s boots on the floor across the room. Upstairs he could hear the soft shuffling of soldiers checking their packs, whereas it appeared that Mrs Currie was already up and about and busy in the kitchen.

The day was knocking at the window and they would have to be up and about. Steve was expected at eight o’clock sharp, Peggy had said, and he had no intention of being late.

Peggy.

And that was a whole other issue altogether. Peggy Carter was the most extraordinary woman he had ever met. She was vibrant and clever and he knew that he liked her a lot, adored her really; probably ever since he watched her knock Hodges on his ass. Seeing her last night had just about knocked him sideways. It was a spark he could feel in the tips of his fingers, and there was potential for that spark to grow into ever so much more. He respected her and trusted her, so really what he needed to do…

Bucky stirred, exhaling slowly, pressing deeper into the pillow as he resisted waking up, and Steve ran his fingers gently through Bucky’s hair, watching his nose twitch once, twice, before his eyes fluttered open. 

Steve wanted to lean down, to frame Bucky’s jaw with his hands and kiss him. But Bucky yawned, sitting up and stretching, blinking hard as he took in his surroundings.

“Shit, did anyone notice?” Bucky’s voice was rough and sleepy, rubbing his fingers through his eyes, and for a second Steve didn’t understand the question.

“What?”

“That I’m not in my room,” Bucky twisted and reached down to the floor, treating Steve to the gorgeous vision of his back and shoulders. He resurfaced, clutching his trousers that had been discarded on the floor from last night.

“Oh, uh, no,” Steve focussed on the sounds of the house. “Mrs Currie is already cooking, and the guys upstairs… I think they’re packing. I believe they’re being deployed today.”

Bucky nodded to himself for a moment, before looking Steve up and down, something shuttered in his eyes that hadn’t been there the night before.

“Don’t you have a date?”

+

Bucky was feeling disorientated in a way he couldn’t explain. First there was the shock of waking up in Steve’s bed, and on reflection, sleeping there at all was a stupid thing to have done. Anyone could have found them, and even if they hadn’t come in the room and caught them both sharing a bed, someone might have noticed Bucky wasn’t in his room, and being in the army he’d have to account for his actions. So it was either face accusations of going AWOL or else admit the truth and none of those options were particularly attractive.

Then there were the echoes of the night before, the way Steve’s scent noticeably clung to his skin, filling his lungs, the familiar ache of having been well fucked, the fingers that had been pressed into his shoulders, and the best thing of all, Steve’s bite. 

Contrasting with all of that chaos was how centred he felt, like both feet were back on the ground where they belonged. And beneath those feet was an earth slowly turning and it was almost as though Bucky could feel it. It was scary as hell and he just… wasn’t ready to deal with it.

So rather than dwell on this new sensation of stillness deep within him, conflicting with the disorder of everything else in the world, he ran from it, pushed back, pushed it aside and focussed on Steve who was sitting beside him, shirtless and loose-limbed, and looking at him with those blue eyes, the same eyes that had been almost black the night before.

And right now, those eyes were wide with surprise and a flash of hurt because Bucky had steamrolled straight into the elephant in the room. 

“Buck,” Steve was steeling himself, Bucky could see it; setting his shoulders, and if he’d been standing his feet would have been placed as though bracing himself.

Of course Steve understood. Bucky was pulling back in retreat, making way, because Steve could read Bucky like a book.

Bucky liked Peggy, and he really hadn’t expected that, but he’d had a certain amount of time to reflect on it and where he’d anticipated hating her on principle, he recognised a kindred soul; someone who looked at Steve Rogers and really saw him. He knew the expression on her face and couldn’t begrudge her that. And she didn’t take his bullshit. Besides, Steve was almost punch-drunk in her presence, it was embarrassing. 

The point was, Steve was up to his neck, and while last night had been incredible, Bucky wasn’t about to let Steve make a really stupid mistake. What the hell had Steve been thinking, taking Bucky to bed?

So as much as he didn’t want to talk about it – and he really didn’t – they really had to grab the bull by the horns, and Bucky needed Steve to know that he wasn’t going to get in the way of Steve having the chance of a life; a real life with a family and everything that entailed.

“Look, I’m not gonna make you choose,” Bucky sighed, climbing out of the bed so he could pull on his trousers and look for his shirt – anything so that he didn’t have to look at Steve. There was a throbbing in his forehead that hadn’t been there five minutes ago. 

The bed creaked as Steve stood, and when Bucky turned, Steve’s head was held up high, jaw out, and he was outright glaring at Bucky in a way that made Bucky’s heart ache.

“Well that’s awful magnanimous of you, Buck,” Steve folded his arms and Bucky could have cried; why, WHY did Steve always look so damn perfect when he was angry or outraged. “Coz for a minute there it sounded like you were gonna be making all my decisions for me.” 

“Look, I ain’t blind, Rogers. She’s a hell of woman. No one else like her in a thousand years and you’d be out of your tree to pass that by,” Bucky growled. “And don’t even try to tell me you don’t like her.”

Steve made a frustrated snorting noise. 

“Yes, I like Peggy,” Steve rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world and not a blow to Bucky’s gut to hear it confirmed. “But I _love_ you. And one day after the war we’re all going to sit down and talk about that…”

Bucky made a choking noise; surely Steve couldn’t be serious! The whole point was that they didn’t talk about it, not ever. And definitely not to someone else. This sort of thing didn’t just get you Court Martialled or kicked out of the army, it got you killed, and it wouldn’t matter a dime that Steve was Captain America. 

“Give her credit, Buck,” Steve was still talking, as though it was perfectly normal and acceptable for them to be… the way they were. “She knows about what… you know… how you saved me after the attack,” and for crying out loud _that_ was what made Steve blush about the whole damn situation. “I didn’t tell her any details or nothing, but she’s smart, Buck. She’ll have worked it out.”

Be that as it may, there was a huge difference between guessing something and having it confirmed. Steve might think Peggy knew about the two of them and was somehow ok with it, but that didn’t make it so. 

Bucky sighed, sitting back down on the edge of the bed because the battle had been over before it had even begun. He’d tried, done the best he could. But he’d never been able to refuse Steve Rogers anything. The guy was downright dangerous. 

Steve’s arms wrapped round him and a gentle kiss was pressed between Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky knew he didn’t have much of a choice but to follow Steve off the cliff as usual.

+

As it happened, any conversation Steve might have hoped to have with Agent Carter may well have just been pushed back indefinitely.

When Steve came back from his day at HQ, he looked like a stepped-on cat, brow furrowed and a blush on his cheek that Bucky had missed in the last couple of years, and Bucky couldn’t help laughing til he was wiping away the tears.

“It’s not my fault, Buck, I didn’t know I was gonna… that she wanted to… I didn’t mean to be kissed by anyone!” He was so indignant, all fluffed up with outrage and it just made Bucky laugh all the harder. 

Ok, so it was definitely not funny that some dame had kissed Steve when he hadn’t wanted it, and Steve should be able to wait outside an office without being pounced on by one of the girls working there. But with Steve looking the way he did right at that moment, Bucky couldn’t keep the laughter inside. And it felt good, felt like something old and familiar loosening some of the tightness in his bones. 

“And now Peggy’s mad at me…” Steve sighed like the bloody idiot he was.

“Well of course she is, you great moose. Going around kissing other dames behind her back…” Bucky cast a mischievous glance in Steve’s direction, because winding Steve up was one of Bucky’s oldest pastimes. At Bucky’s words, Steve puffed himself up like he was still five foot nothing, throwing out his chest in indignation. He opened his mouth to protest his innocence once again, but Bucky just carried right on.

“And what about me, huh? You leaving your old pal Bucky behind now you got yourself a swell new crowd to hang around with…” and that was touching a bit closer to a few of Bucky’s nerves than he was perhaps willing to admit. But Steve’s face softened at once and he visibly deflated.

“Come on, Buck. You know it’s not…” Steve trailed off, twisting his mouth, and somehow even though he now beat Bucky by a couple of inches in height, he still managed to duck his head and look up at Bucky through thick lashes; Bucky suddenly found it hard to swallow.

“Knock it off, Rogers,” Bucky’s voice sounded hoarse as he gently nudged Steve with his shoulder. “Those puppy-dog eyes have been getting me in trouble since the ‘20s and I ain’t falling for them now.”

Steve crooked that small smile at him, shy and tentative, and damn this guy was gonna be the death of him one of these days. 

“Come on, let’s go get a drink.”

+

“You did WHAT?!”

Bucky ignored the chorus of oooh’s that followed his exclamation as his new team sat back to watch the fireworks. They were at the start of their second week in a barracks down in Cornwall, an opportunity to put them all through their paces, because _obviously_ the trauma of being held captive by Hydra meant that none of them could remember how to fire a gun.

There were five Hydra bases littered across Europe; one in Czechoslovakia, one in Greece and Alsace Lorraine, and then two more in Poland. And they were going to get them all, just as soon as they were field ready.

They were in the mess, winding down after another long day running field tests, and Peggy had dropped into the conversation that they were scheduled for formal parachute training in the morning, seeing as they were likely to be doing a fair amount of dropping into enemy territory as part of their mission to wipe Hydra off the map. 

“Something a bit more thorough than ‘count to ten and pull this cord’,” she’d said smiling, and over the laughter, Steve had blushed, guilt written all over his face.

Bucky didn’t know why the hell he was so surprised. So Steve had leapt out of the back of Howard Stark’s plane after only a quick pep talk from Peggy and instructions on which cord to pull. Par for the damn course with that guy, and all Bucky could do was growl and shake his head while the rest of his unit crowed and laughed at their expense.

The look he gave Steve was loud and clear: _they’d be talking about this later_.

Out of Bucky’s line of sight, Peggy smirked before taking a sip of her tea, and Steve got the distinct impression he still hadn’t been forgiven for the whole debacle with Private Lorraine. 

Bucky looked round at the men at his table, still laughing. They made for an unlikely group and Bucky liked them. Of course, he already knew and trusted Dugan; the man had been running with him back when the war had been about the Germans and Italians, rather than mad scientists and cartoon villains with red skulls. 

But there was no denying they were a rag-tag mesh, and Bucky suspected that half of the delay in their deployment was sorting out the paperwork. 

The Brit, Lieutenant Falsworth, had a surprisingly sharp sense of humour. He had been in the Independent Parachute Brigade before being taken prisoner, so presumably tomorrow’s exercise would be slightly redundant. He was quiet and dry, with a quick eye for detail. He also gave as good as he got when clashing horns with Dugan, something that happened at least twice a day, much to the amusement of the rest of the group.

Gabe and Dernier appeared to be joined at the hip, a vibrant friendship blossoming between them, and Bucky had already learnt to be cautious around any whispers that he couldn’t translate. Despite being a member of the US Army, Bucky knew for a fact that the paperwork for Gabe had caused Peggy the most problems which was both ridiculous and fucking typical. 

Bucky already knew Gabe to be intelligent and easy-going; he pitched in and pulled his weight, and always had the best stories when they were lying in their bunks after a long day and just chewing the fat before lights out. Dernier was something of an enigma, bright and unfathomable, with piercing eyes that always seemed to be calculating, before turning to Jones to share a private joke, and Bucky was determined to master more than “bon jour” before the end of the war, if only to recognise when they were talking about him behind his back. After all, Dernier had been in the French Resistance and Bucky knew better than to underestimate him. 

Finally there was Morita, who was quiet but good at strategy, and had proved to be surprisingly ruthless, even in training. Another James, which was quite frankly embarrassing and would no doubt get them some sort of terrible reputation from other units. Morita had been a Ranger which just added him to Bucky’s list of people to be really cautious of. 

These were the men that Steve had chosen, and he insisted on every single one. They had agreed to take on Hydra, fighting by Steve's side, and Bucky wouldn't change any of them. 

As they all pushed back their chairs, ready to get up and return to quarters, Bucky gave Steve a final look, rolling his eyes. Steve’s smile in return was more than a little sheepish. There wouldn’t be time to talk about it now, and while they would definitely be having yet another conversation about Steve’s life choices, Bucky knew better than to go to bed on a bad note.

“See you tomorrow, Stevie,” he murmured under his breath, knowing that Steve would hear it. Steve patted his shoulder in answer as he passed, jerk that he was, and Bucky couldn’t help but lean into the touch.

At least tomorrow that jerk would learn how to jump out a plane properly.

+

It seemed a bit obvious, but damn, Poland was cold. The snow crunched beneath their boots, thick and compacted and nothing like the snow Bucky was used to back home. They were in woods, barren and still, snow falling steadily and sapping the sounds around them.

“Couldn’t we have done Greece first?” Dugan grumbled behind him, and there was an echoing sound of agreement from the others. 

Bucky wasn’t quite sure if there was an order or method as to how they were taking these bases down, only that a map had been put together, and Steve, Peggy and a few other people had spent a good couple of hours in meetings putting together plans that would hopefully see all of them survive this crazy mission.

So if they said Poland was first, then Poland it was.

Even if it was December and well below freezing and here they were on their first real mission as a unit, creeping through the woods in search of a castle – because of course Herr Scary Red Face had a suitably scary cartoonish castle in which to loiter, no doubt with his bat army . On his right, just ahead, was Steve in his new uniform.

They’d all been kitted out courtesy of the SSR who evidently had some sort of magic money tree. The whole reason Bucky still had some feeling in his fingers was down to his new coat and gloves which had been specially designed not to hinder when firing his shiny new rifle that Stark had presented to him back in England. It was perfectly balanced and fired like a dream, already feeling like an extra limb, comfortable in Bucky’s arms. It didn’t feel like a new weapon, all clunky and shiny, not quite broken in. It felt like Bucky had been firing it for years, smooth and reliable. 

Steve’s new shield, complete with Peggy’s bullet marks – and there’d been a fair amount of snickering and winking about _that_ \- was thankfully on Steve’s arm and not on his back where Steve had taken to keeping it. “Much good it’ll do you there, Stevie,” Bucky had griped, elbowing him sharply. Not that ol’ Captain America would feel anything like an elbow through the armour Stark had designed for him.

“Vous autres cinglés d’Américains à la recherche d’un gars encore plus cinglé qu’ vous avec un château au milieu des bois,” Dernier was grumbling under his breath. “Je sais pas c’qu’il m’est passé par la tête. Je pourrais être en train de boire avec deux Anglaises sur les genoux au lieu d’être ici avec vous autres.” 

It became apparent very quickly why the castle had been chosen as the first place to storm. It appeared out of the gloom, tall and imposing with thick walls, and it made Bucky think of bows, arrows and boiling oil. Fuck, but it was going to be a nightmare. Bucky could just imagine the interior – all winding staircases and narrow corridors, hardly ideal for a gunfight. And according to intel, there was a factory built beneath it.

This was going to be a test, to see what Captain America and his little band of commandoes could actually achieve. Well, better get on with it then.

“Hey, Dernier,” Bucky called out softly. “How long to set those charges up?”

Dernier simply grinned, rubbing his hands together.

+

This was not how Bucky had envisaged spending his Christmas.

Two months ago, he’d been in that camp in Kreischberg. One month ago he’d been on the Cornish coast of England, spending his days field testing new equipment. And now, here he was, back in fucking Germany and freezing his balls off.

They’d hoped to have been picked up by now, with plans to spend Christmas in London. But Hydra had no respect for the holidays, and apparently there was a little breakaway unit who had been out on manoeuvres while their castle base back in Poland was being burnt to the ground. They’d been a couple of days ahead, returning to a central base in Germany, but the Commandoes had managed to overtake them the day before, and there just so happened to be a deserted little hamlet a couple of miles up the road that was just perfect for an ambush.

Bucky and Steve had gone ahead to scout around, looking for likely spots for skirmishes, a good nest for Bucky to set up. But the snow storm that had been threatening all day finally set in before they could liaise with the others, and now they were in a foxhole bivouac trying to keep warm and wait it out. The trench offered a surprising amount of shelter out of the wind, and the canvas rippled lazily over their heads.

“Just like the old days, huh,” Bucky pressed into Steve’s side, feeling the irony of that statement because this was nothing like Brooklyn. He felt Steve snort beside him in the dark. But then he was rolling over, seeking out Bucky’s mouth, and _that_ was more like it.

Well, what else were they going to do while waiting for the storm to die down; it was Christmas after all. Steve was breathing hard, hands firm on Bucky’s arms, almost as though holding the man in place, although Bucky had no intention of going anywhere. He trusted Steve to sense out anyone coming their way, either by sound or scent. They stayed like that for a while, kissing in the dark while the wind howled around them. But then Bucky got an idea. There wasn’t a great deal of room, but he managed to manoeuvre Steve onto his front, Bucky shifting himself on top of him, rolling his hips so Steve got the idea. He reached for his torch, clicking it on because he wanted to see. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. 

The questioning noise Steve had made quickly turned into one of enthusiasm and agreement, trying to push back to where Bucky was on top of him. Bucky kissed the back of his neck, while one hand slowly made its way to the zip of Steve’s uniform. 

“You gotta keep an ear out, Stevie,” Bucky muttered, slowly peeling back the layers of uniform and revealing Steve’s muscled back, Steve obligingly shifting to release his arms so Bucky could push the uniform down. A bit more shifting and a lot more shuffling, and Bucky had managed to push everything down to Steve’s knees, while Steve obediently stayed put, head resting on his hands, waiting for what Bucky would do next.

Bucky draped himself over Steve’s back, knowing his own uniform would feel rough against Steve’s bared skin. He sucked his fingers into his mouth before reaching down between them, tracing them between Steve’s cheeks, tutting when Steve tried to shift and push back, tried to get what he wanted as usual.

“Uh, uh, Stevie,” Bucky admonished, withdrawing his fingers. “You gotta keep nice and still and nice and quiet for me. The Howlies are probably out there looking for us.” That, Bucky hoped, was a lie, because if they were out in this storm then they were complete idiots and he’d be giving them hell for it tomorrow. “They could stumble on us any time. You don’t want them to hear you, do you?”

Bucky wasn’t expecting the muffled groan, and Steve buried his head into his folded hands, but he was keen to explore this new thing further because _damn_ , Steve’s skin was flushed red. 

“Don’t want them to discover Captain America with a couple of fingers up his ass…” Bucky reached back down, pressing at Steve’s tight little hole, all the while peppering kisses and nips across Steve’s neck and shoulders, and Steve was outright moaning, squirming beneath him. Damn, it was hot.

So, Steve Rogers got off to the idea of being found in a delicate situation. Interesting.

“What about Peggy, huh?” Steve’s breath hitched as Bucky pushed another finger inside him. “Would you want her to see you this way?”

Bucky wasn’t sure where all this was coming from. They didn’t normally talk dirty, for fairly obvious thin-wall related reasons; but now he couldn’t seem to shut up, and Steve was groaning and egging him on. He leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“What do you think she’d say, Stevie? If she walked in and found you all spread out, begging like this, begging for more?”

“Please,” Steve whined, lifting his head briefly, eyes closed. “Please, Buck…”

“Reckon she knows what she wants, Steve,” Bucky carried on, stretching and scissoring his fingers, stretching Steve out. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, Steve, I reckon you’d do just about anything she said.”

Bucky withdrew his fingers, much to Steve’s clear displeasure, but Bucky wasn’t having any of that, smacking Steve’s arse smartly.

“So she’d come in, and she’d sit herself down, make herself comfortable, and then,” Bucky started to wriggle his way down to situate himself between Steve’s spread legs. “Then she’d tell me how to touch you.”

Oh yeah, that definitely did it. Steve was biting on his hand, hips shifting as he sought some friction. 

“She might tell me to spread your cheeks,” Bucky traced the bright red handprint which was already fading, before parting Steve’s arse cheeks like he’d said, revealing Steve’s hole. “She might…” Bucky leaned forward, watching Steve shudder as Bucky’s breath puffed over his bared skin. “Tell me to do this.”

Steve outright howled as Bucky licked over his hole.

“Shush!” Bucky laughed, sitting up, because that reaction had been magic, and he’d been wanting to do that to Steve since forever. 

“Holy shit, Buck!” Steve breathed in response, and he was trembling beneath Bucky’s touch. 

“She doesn’t take your bullshit, does she, Steve,” Bucky murmured, rubbing his thumb over where his tongue had just been. Steve’s head was back on his hands, shaking his head. “If she told you to be quiet, you’d be quiet, wouldn’t you.” 

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice was wrecked, but Bucky just smacked him again, before going back to his task.

Steve may well be built like a brick wall these days, but his waist was still delightfully narrow, and Bucky held it firmly with both hands while Steve tried to wriggle beneath Bucky’s attentions. He lapped at him and spat, and fucked him with his tongue, relishing every second of it, hard in his own pants because he could imagine it. Soft candle light, and Peggy’s brown eyes observing them critically, her voice cutting through the room, telling him what to do while watching Steve’s reaction. 

Because he had to admit, he had been thinking about it. Ever since Steve had brought it up – the idea of all three of them sitting down and talking about… things. Bucky was a realist, but if he allowed himself to borrow some of Steve’s vision, if Agent Carter didn’t do what she should do, which was to punch Steve’s lights out and report the pair of them to the vice squad, or whatever passed for that in England, then… what? 

It was harmless, just thinking about it. Dreaming about it. This was harmless, teasing the fuck out of Steve, talking dirty to get him off because there was no one else to care for miles in this freezing cold hole in fuck-knew-where, Germany. 

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice brought him back out of his head. He rubbed his two-day stubble roughly over the downy skin of Steve’s backside, making him squirm, before going up on his knees to deal with his belt buckle and buttons. From one of his pockets he took out one of the army-issue condoms, which they’d worked out meant for far less messy sex out in the field. He set it to one side within easy reach. There wasn’t really room for him to take off his coat and shirt; the only reason he’d stripped Steve was that the damn uniform was an all-in-one design. Ok, perhaps not the only reason.

Then he bent down to kiss Steve as messily as he could; a filthy, claiming kiss that Steve groaned into, twisting up to meet him.

“Is this ok?” Bucky breathed, resting forehead to forehead with Steve.

“Please, Buck. Want to feel you,” Steve murmured in response, leaning up to kiss him again. Bucky knotted his fingers in Steve’s hair, enjoying Steve’s taste, before pulling back and pushing Steve how he wanted him, climbing back on top of him, letting Steve feel how hard Bucky was against him.

“She’d wait.” Bucky breathed into Steve’s ear, gratified to hear Steve gasp beneath him, even though he couldn’t see his face. Bucky could imagine how he looked; eyes closed and red mouth open. “She wouldn’t let me give you want you want, let me take what I want. Not yet.”

“Uh, Buck,” Bucky felt Steve try to shift beneath him, pushing his hips up. Bucky pushed back, cock sliding between Steve’s cheeks, teasing but not enough.

“She’d make you beg,” he pushed, and bit harshly at Steve’s shoulder.

“Please, please, god, please, just fuck me, she’d let you fuck me, she would,” Steve babbled, twisting his head to the side, and Bucky could see his fingers flexing in the groundsheet beneath them. Bucky pressed a last kiss to the spot just behind Steve’s ear.

“Yeah, she would.”

And with that, Bucky moved back to grab the condom. He spat in his hand to slick himself up and then gently, ever so gently, began to push inside.

Damn, Steve was tight. He drew Bucky in, whining, trying to keep still as Bucky rocked forward little by little. Finally he was fully inside, lying across Steve’s warm back, and Bucky dropped his head at the base of Steve’s neck between his shoulder blades. He took a moment just to breathe, before letting go, fucking Steve in long hard thrusts like he knew the guy loved.

Then it was just heat and sweat and the gorgeous sounds Steve was making, and Bucky knew he wasn’t exactly being quiet, groaning with each thrust, repeating Steve’s name like a prayer. He held Steve by the shoulders, clawing his back, biting his skin, unable to resist licking across the corded tendons of Steve’s neck. The fact that there wasn’t much room to move just added to the closeness of it all, and Bucky felt the familiar tightening in his gut far too soon. 

“You’re not to come!” he choked, thrusting in hard once more. “Not til I say.” 

_Not without your cock in my mouth_ , Bucky thought, another tactic for not making too much of a mess.

“If you come like this, you’ll be licking it up, Rogers,” And ok, Steve’s reaction to that threat wasn’t exactly what Bucky had intended; indeed, it was something to file away for another day – preferably when they actually had a bed to roll around in, whenever that distant day may be. Steve keened loudly, back arching, and Bucky twisted his hand in Steve’s hair once more, tugging as he continued to fuck the man beneath him. 

Bucky came, collapsing down on Steve’s back and kissing every inch of skin he could. Steve was breathing hard, clearly desperate, and Bucky could hear him muttering and cursing. Gingerly, he pulled out, quickly pulling off the condom and tying it off before spinning Steve around. Those gorgeous blue eyes stared up at him in the dim light.

“Fuck, Bucky please, I need to come, please,” and there was Steve’s cock, hard and proud against his thigh, and Bucky couldn’t resist sweeping his thumb over the dribble of precome at the head. Steve threw his head back, keening loudly, clearly sensitive – and if there were any members of their squad foolish enough to be out in this storm then they definitely would have heard that.

“So beautiful,” Bucky murmured, before swallowing Steve down.

Well, he made a damn good try of it. Steve was a touch bigger than the last time Bucky had done this. Not that Steve had ever been small, but there was added girth now, and Bucky felt the tip hit the back of his throat sooner than expected. He pulled back a little, hollowing his cheeks and running his tongue along the bottom of Steve’s shaft. He didn’t need to do anything fancy because, judging by the way Steve was clawing at his back and shoulders, he was ready to pop. 

“Ok, Steve,” Bucky pulled back, teasing the head with his tongue. “You can come.”

He took Steve back into his mouth and felt the man exhale as he came, Bucky swallowing it easily, bitter on his tongue. 

There was a bit more shifting and shuffling before they were both side by side, and Bucky could kiss Steve like he deserved to be kissed, slow and loving, taking their time because yeah there was a war on, but it was Christmas and no one knew where they were and they had a bit of time yet. Just a few stolen moments for this.

“Merry Christmas, Buck,” Steve murmured, eyelashes fluttering closed, shivering slightly so Bucky pulled him closed.

“Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Claire for providing Dernier's words, which translate as follows;
> 
> “You crazy Americans seeking out a crazier man with his castle in the woods, I don’t know what I was thinking! I could be in the pub with beer and women instead of out here with you lot”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy does some research and the Howlies clear another Hydra facility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo - sorry for the slight delay in posting. Been a bit under the weather for the past week or so. Hopefully on the mend now so yay.

“Peggy! Phone for you!”

That was Milly all over, not able to pass on a message quietly. She had a good heart but a big mouth, and shouting across the office was one of her worst habits. How she ever got work with the SSR, where discretion and subtlety were paramount, Peggy would never understand. She pasted on a smile and thanked Milly politely before taking up the receiver. 

1944 was proving to be as relentless as 1943. There was still no sign of a break in Italy, while the RAF had resumed its bombing of Berlin. For the time being, she was stationed in London, overseeing the co-ordination of intel as it came in about the Hydra bases. So far the operation in Poland had been a success, but there had been next to no information about the other bases. Now they had some idea of their location, they could at least deploy some eyes and ears, and it was Peggy’s job to sift through the information as it poured in.

All this desk work made her restless; she was so used to being out in the field. Although she had to admit it was nice to go home at the end of the day to the same bed, and she hadn’t been this long in London for over a year.

It also put her in the perfect position to get in touch with some of her old SOE colleagues. After Steve had confided in her about his concerns, she’d already planned to do some further research. But then he’d told her about the final damning bit of evidence; well… more like he stuttered, stumbled, blushed and otherwise alluded with a lot of gesticulation and euphemism that drinking blood was still something his body desired, and really it was rather adorable and Peggy hadn’t been able to stop herself from smiling.

At the debrief just after Christmas, she had found her eyes wandering over to Sergeant Barnes, who was looking so much better than he had done in November, which was hardly surprising. But more than simply looking healthier, he also seemed rather relaxed, more put together, shoulders and head high. Her first impression of Steve’s Best Friend hadn’t exactly been award-winning, but she was willing to overlook that in light of everything he had been through. 

And she was now confident in her earlier assessment that there was a lot more to that story than met the eye. Not that she minded; it just added another square to the patchwork of Steve Rogers, though it did give her pause as she was also certain Steve liked _her_. It wasn’t vanity; Steve was hardly subtle in his attentions which were boyishly charming in their naivety. But she would bet that Barnes wasn’t simply there as a blood donor. It was an interesting riddle, an itch that she fully intended to scratch because there was something compelling about Steve that made it hard to look away. 

She wanted to help him, as far as she was able to. And as it happened, she was in the position to make some rather unusual inquiries. The Lamia wife of that doctor was hardly the only member of the vampire family to have been stumbled upon, and it wouldn’t have raised any suspicions to ask for access to files relating to certain key words. After all, there was a war on; if the Americans had caught wind of some issue or other then as long as they kept it to themselves then the British would provide all the paperwork they could. 

But she did try to keep it as discreet as possible; she didn’t need the whole SSR to know what she was looking into, even though she doubted anyone would draw any connections between vampires and the new super solider created by Operation Rebirth. She waited for her assigned lunch break before stepping out of the office.

London in January was completely depressing. The weather was ghastly and the city was facing yet another year of war and rationing, and it was taking its toll. Everywhere you looked there were boarded up buildings and sandbags, and the lumbering barrage balloons loitering above their heads. Peggy decided to walk round to her old office from the SSR Headquarters, in spite of the weather, not minding too much about the rain splashing her court shoes. Anything to get out of the office and into some fresh air. 

Maud Bleakley was a friendly face from the past, with gorgeous round cheeks and always a run in her stockings, and a laugh that really cheered you up; Peggy greeted her warmly. They chatted pleasantly for some minutes before making their way down to the archive room.

“Ask no questions, of course, Pegs dear,” Maud chuckled, “But it is frightfully odd you asking for these. I thought you were off on some exciting science project?”

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” Peggy replied smartly, with a grin, and Maud just rolled her eyes good-naturedly before leaving Peggy to it.

As it was, she drew a blank. The files themselves were fascinating; little enclaves of strigoi that had come over on ships at the height of the steam age, finding various dark nooks and crannies to flourish under the noses of the mortals. Also the occasional nomad, causing little bits of chaos where they became too greedy, usually in little towns and villages where they were more likely to be noticed. 

Some of the files were quite old, well before the war, and likely the information was outdated. Others were essays examining historical cases such as the case at Alnwick Castle, the Cranwell Family in Cumbria, and even the Hunderprest of Melrose Abbey. All absolutely fascinating and totally irrelevant, and Peggy left the archives of the SOE disappointed and frustrated.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise; Steve, after all, was unique. For how else would a human-vampire hybrid be created if not with the help of Erskine’s serum? Not for the first time, Peggy wished Doctor Eskine were there. She wondered what he would have made of it all. 

As Peggy returned to HQ, she took a deep breath because her coat was not even on the hook before Milly was calling her name again, and hurrying across the office waving a large brown file.

“Oh, Peggy, there you are! Colonel Philips has been looking for you absolutely everywhere!”

“Oh yes?” Peggy replied, somewhat dryly, as she walked sedately to her desk and sighing internally at the ever increasing pile of paperwork.

“Something about Lamia?”

That brought Peggy to a sudden stop, blood running absolutely cold. Surely she had misheard? The Colonel couldn’t know…

“I beg your pardon?”

+

“Control room secure,” Falsworth reported, stepping out of the building and walking across the court yard to where Steve, Bucky and Dugan were standing. “That’s all the levels cleared. No sign of Schmidt or Zola.”

Unlike the castle in Poland, this was a purpose-built structure with a large factory floor, a detention wing and staff quarters. They had liaised with a support unit three days before, and had stormed the base from the north in a bitter fire fight. Steve was trying not to itch the bullet wound to his shoulder because Bucky was still glaring at him, even though it was a clean shot straight through and was probably already a shiny round scar under his tunic. The mark would be gone before they even got back to base. 

Morita was dealing with the former POWS, armed with his trusty triage kit. They were all horribly thin and black-eyed, staring at the Howlies and their support unit as though they couldn’t quite believe what they had lived through. 

Most of the Hydra grunts had been killed in the battle, or had crunched down on their cyanide pills once they realised it was over. Gabe and a few members of the support unit had been told to process anyone who surrendered, but they had practically nothing to do. There were plans to gather more of whatever it was Hydra was trying to build and ship it back to Howard’s lab, and Gabe had already contacted the SSR to request a pick up. 

There were a few outbuildings that they hadn’t yet searched, and both Dugan and Falsworth made to head in that direction, before Steve stopped them in their tracks.

“Schmidt isn’t here,” Steve sighed in frustration, almost to himself. “He wasn’t ever here.” Clicking in annoyance, Steve walked away from the factory in disgust.

“You know, it’s spooky when you do that,” Dugan commented, raising a bushy eyebrow in Steve’s direction.

“How do you know?” Falsworth’s brow was furrowed, and there was an awkward pause. They had only just taken control of the building; either Schmidt or Zola could be hiding anywhere.

Bucky glanced over to where Steve was looking rather stumped at this line of questioning and decided to step in before Steve really put his foot in it. _He_ knew how Steve could tell whether or not Schmidt was here; that super soldier memory of his had filed away what the vampire in him had detected – the scent and heartbeat of everyone he had ever met. Bucky knew that to Steve they were all unique and distinctive, and as easy to pick out as faces in a photograph. But it wasn’t as though he could admit that to the Howlies.

“Well I don’t see that flashy car of his, do you?” Bucky aimed for casual, shoulders relaxed, but keeping the grip on his rifle firm. “No one round here making crazy theatrical speeches.”

Dugan scrunched his nose, and Falsworth’s lips twitched in vague amusement. There was a shout from the Corporal in charge of the support unit; another area declared clear. Once they were sure the whole building was empty then Dernier could do what he did best.

“Cap!” They all turned at Gabe’s shout. “SSR inbound 30 minutes.” Steve nodded in acknowledgement.

“And Dernier says he’s ready when you are.”

+

It was a slow trudge back to the rendezvous point, though at least these the men recovered from the base seemed to be in fairly good shape, and there had been no evidence of a lab. Steve wasn’t really paying attention to his surroundings, only peripherally aware of the sounds in the forest around them. He wasn’t quite sure of the limits of his hearing, but certainly there was nothing sinister lurking in the forest in the immediate vicinity. He picked up the deep rumble of the six Douglas C-47s low in the distance about three minutes before Bucky stopped in his tracks, cocking his head.

“That the planes?” Burky murmured, raising his eyebrows in Steve’s direction.

“Yeah it’s the C-47s,” Steve intoned, nodding his head. “Six of them.”

It wouldn’t be enough to evacuate all of them but it would be a good start, and they would bring enough supplies to build a base of operations until they were able to get the rest out. Bucky didn’t say anything, seemingly satisfied with Steve’s answer and taking point as they continued on their way. 

“Do they do that a lot?” Steve heard the Corporal mutter to Gabe.

“Do what?” Gabe returned lightly, voice slightly louder than the Corporal’s as though he had no idea what he was referring to. The man didn’t respond, perhaps realising that he might have spoken out of turn.

“Oh, you mean talk to each other about stuff only they can hear?” Somewhere to Steve’s right he heard Dugan cough suspiciously while Gabe outright laughed. “Man, you have no idea.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile to himself. The guys were slowly getting used to the way he and Bucky worked together, almost in tandem, and with their own language of shrugs and snorts. It was easy to forget that outsiders to their tight unit might find it strange.

Ten minutes later the rumble of engines was loud enough for everyone else to hear, and necks were craning skywards through the trees in hopes of catching a glimpse of them as they flew over.

“So what do you reckon, Cap? Can you tell us what they’re bringing us for dinner?” Dugan called out cheekily, following on the joke. The Corporal gaped, looking between Dugan and Steve as though trying to parse out whether or not he was being serious.

“It’s your favourite, Dugan,” Steve replied cheerily, smiling over to Bucky and winking. “Spam with mashed potatoes.”

There was a flutter of laughter amongst the others as they continued through the woods to the rendezvous point. They could hear the planes circling, readying for their final approach. By the time they trooped into the clearing, two had already landed and a third was making its approach.

As Steve and the rest of the Howlies approached the first plane, Steve picked up a familiar sound and he couldn’t help but increase his pace. Sure enough, the door of the plane opened and a familiar face smiled down at him.

“Someone radio for a pick up?” Peggy drawled.

“Agent Carter!” Dugan hollered up to her, grinning broadly. “Good to see you ma’am.”

His sentiments were echoed by the rest of the group as Peggy descended the plane, and Steve almost stopped in his tracks because Peggy was stunning. Her regulation A-line skirt had evidently been left back in London, replaced in favour of khaki trousers and a leather jacket, her hair plaited neatly up out of the way. 

“Close your mouth, Rogers, you’ll attract flies,” Bucky snickered, making Steve jump because when had he snuck up? He quickly shut his mouth and just about remembered to salute as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Ma’am,” he greeted respectfully, just as Bucky called the rest of the platoon to fall in, sending Gabe and Morita out to set up a perimeter.

“Captain,” she replied. “I have some information for your next target.” She brandished a leather briefcase. “But first we need to unload the plane.”

Right. Because Steve was good with the heavy lifting. He inclined his head respectfully before climbing up into the back of the plane which was full of equipment and immediately lifted the two largest rolls onto his shoulders.

Out of the other planes poured more crew, and Falsworth took over, directing medics towards the injured, and helping organise the men into groups ready for evacuation, taking names, ranks and serial numbers. Bucky climbed up behind Steve, grabbing a few bags to help.

“Where is it? The next target?” Bucky wheezed, setting down a particularly large bag that contained what would eventually be the mess tent. 

“Greece,” she replied, unfurling the map as Steve set up a table just for that purpose. 

“Hey Dugan!” Bucky yelled across the camp to where the man had already pitched two canvas tents. “Got some good news for you.”

“By the way,” Steve smiled innocently at Peggy, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Bucky perk up, no doubt recognising that tone of voice. “You don’t happen to have a tin of spam around here, do you?” 

Peggy eyed him suspiciously as Bucky descended into giggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, the cases mentioned are all recorded cases of suspected vampires in the UK.
> 
> Thanks to the lovely people subscribing and leaving kudos - I love to hear from you.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"“What did he say?” Dugan said, gun in his hand, frowning._
> 
> _“He doesn’t like Cap,” It was Gabe who answered, sounding cautious and confused, and Steve felt like everyone turned to stare at him all at once; everyone except Bucky who kept his sights firmly fixed on their contact."_
> 
> The Howlies head to their next target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I'm sorry for the slight (!) delay in bringing you this chapter. I sort of went to Australia and had the time of my life...  
> And then I came home and slipped into a funk because I wasn't in Australia anymore.
> 
> But here it is, and I promise it won't take another two months for the next month. I hope.
> 
> I don't think anything needs tagging in this chapter, but as usual folks are welcome to contact me if they would like me to tag something for them.

Of course, you couldn’t just walk into Greece, any more than you could march into Germany. 

Greece was technically still under the Occupation, and with civil war brewing between the various resistance groups, liberation was dragging its heels. Guerrillas overran the mountainous regions, while the brutal Security Battalions fought to combat them; the general plan was to try to get in and out without attracting too much attention.

“Well, that’s the idea anyway,” Peggy said, glancing around the men reflected in the light of the campfire. ”And our contact will help with that.” 

They were set to liaise with a member of a local resistance group who had tenuously agreed to help them, but only because they had no love for Hydra. As the saying went, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’, and that was true for the time being, at least. 

Because she was the only one with a vaguely fluid grip on the Greek language, Peggy had been assigned to go with them in order to facilitate communications between the Howlies and the Resistance. Dugan had whistled his approval, “Well aren’t you just full of surprises!”

Peggy’s response had not been in English, and Bucky had stage-whispered to Steve how odd it was that “go fuck yourself” sounded the same in almost every language. 

Now, sitting around the fire, the atmosphere was easy and plans were afoot. Peggy glanced over to where Steve was deep in thought, already considering possible plans based on what she had just told him. Sergeant Barnes was watching him, face impassive but for a slight, almost imperceptible tightness of the jaw which warned against Captain Rogers making any rash decisions.

Morita, Dernier and Jones were laughing at Dugan who was still sulking over the ration of spam he had been issued with for dinner, attacking the now empty tin with a pocket knife in some vague attempt at turning it into a work of art. Only Falsworth was absent, stationed on look-out patrol. In a moment, once the kettle had boiled, she would send Morita over with a mug of tea made with leaves that Peggy had bought with her specially.

The boys were pleased with their success so far, and were looking forward to their next mission. The kettle whistled, and Morita obligingly went to relieve Falsworth, while Dugan was placated by a bottle of whiskey that Peggy had thoughtfully procured before her departure. At sight of it, his whole face lit up.

“Oh, Peggy!” he exclaimed, eyeing the bottle hungrily. “You’re all right.” She rolled her eyes, but accepted the thank you all the same. 

“Where is it, anyway?” Barnes suddenly looked up, frowning. Peggy winced, having deliberately left that piece of information until last.

“The facility is in the city of Lamia,” she replied, keeping her voice light. Barnes’s face remained blank, the word clearly meaning nothing to him, but Steve’s head shot up, attention now fully back in the present.

“You’re joking!” he exclaimed, completely gobsmacked, and drawing curious looks from everyone else. Peggy kept her face carefully blank.

“I’m not in the habit of joking about Hydra factories or their locations, Captain,” Peggy sighed, shrugging her shoulders, because she knew Steve would do this; blow it all out of proportion. She held out the map to him so he could see for himself.

“Lamia,” Falsworth took his place in the circle, mug in hand. “Is that a reference to the mythological creature?” He leaned forward with interest at the turn of conversation.

“How in the heck do you know that?” spluttered Dugan, just about checking his language in deference to Peggy being present. Falsworth turned a withering look on him.

“Well, naturally, from the age of five we were not permitted to have breakfast until we had recited the Greek alphabet and conjugated at least three Latin verbs,” Falsworth took a sip from his mug of tea. “Wasn’t it the same in your family?” Dugan glared back at him.

“But, you don’t think…” Steve, oblivious to the exchange, carried right on, eyes wide. Sergeant Barnes took the map from him, probably to start scouring the surrounding area and possible approaches.

“I’m sure it’s just a name,” Peggy hurried to reassure. “Certainly everything would indicate that Lamia is a normal city under normal occupation and is absolutely _not_ a vampire colony.”

There was a stunned pause; Steve’s eyes were about as wide as they could be at the mention of the V word, visibly swallowing. Barnes’s head shot up from where he was engrossed in the map, and out of the corner of her eye, Peggy saw Gabe and Dernier exchange a look, eyebrows raised in a clear signal as they tried to work out if they were being taken for a ride or not. Peggy felt her lips twitch but she said nothing more.

“Technically,” Falsworth cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “The Lamiae weren’t vampires, they were more… a child-devouring demon who sometimes seduced hapless young men, depending on what you read.”

“Oh well that makes me feel loads better!” Dugan harrumphed. Meanwhile Jones and Dernier had descended into giggles, probably at the idea of Dugan as a hapless young man. Clearly none of the Commandos were taking it seriously, and seemed to find their Captain’s consternation amusing. 

“I really do think it’s a coincidence,” Peggy kept her voice all light and business-like. Steve nodded, but he was frowning, and Barnes was hovering by his elbow, clearly anxious to have some sort of discussion with his Captain. Peggy decided to leave them to it, standing up and wishing them all a good night before retiring to her own tent. 

Although she couldn’t hear any distinct words, the sound of two Brooklyn voices carried on well into the night.

+

It was certainly an old city. People had been making Lamia their home since Antiquity. Houses sprawled across the hillside in the shadow of the fortress. The Commandos parachuted in a few miles out, making their way to the city with caution. They were professional, on alert, keeping their eyes and ears peeled for any movement, but there was nothing. It was, as Dum-Dum put it, downright creepy.

“Something ain’t right,” Bucky murmured, just loud enough for Steve to pick up. Steve nodded to show he’d heard but didn’t respond. Morita was scouting ahead, his whistle echoing through the trees to signal all clear. But there should have been something.

Steve found the silence unsettling. It wasn’t something others would appreciate, but it was never silent anymore, hadn’t been silent for years. Brooklyn had always rumbled and murmured; hushed voices in other apartments, the trams on the street, just folk going about their lives. And now, war was loud. Trucks and planes and tanks, before you even got to the whiz of bullets and boom of guns. 

But not at that moment; all Steve could hear were the steady heartbeats of the men around him, Bucky’s sticking out louder than anyone’s just through familiarity. The forest was still; nothing and no one else around for miles. Nothing vibrated beneath his feet, the tell-tale sign of a road. Nothing carried on the wind, only the scent of baked earth.

It was hot, like the summer’s back home, a welcome contrast to the rain and cold further north. The plan was to liaise with their contact just outside the city, who would lead them in from the South under the cover of darkness. The factory was set under the fortified castle because of course it was; not as though Hydra were going to make it easy for them. 

They made it to the outskirts of the city just before nightfall, which was enough time to check their kit and go over their approach once more. Unlike their previous missions, there was the added issue of possible civilian casualties, and at least now that they were out of the woods, the world around them was starting to behave as expected. Where the forest had been eerily quiet, now scents and sounds carried on the wind, signs of life emanating and setting everyone slightly more at ease.

It wasn’t long before a low whistle signalled an approach, and there was a tense couple of minutes as Peggy and Morita went out to out to meet their guest, the others remaining in the clearing as agreed. The light was almost gone, everyone standing around awkwardly, a sense of anticipation in the air, ready to get going with the mission.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two, when Steve felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, anticipation knotting in his guts. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was a strange something vibrating in the air; and, distantly, a decidedly unpleasant smell. Steve looked over to where Bucky was standing, concentrating. He caught Steve’s eye, a flicker of something uncertain on his face.

“Can you smell…?” Bucky whispered, as though reading Steve’s mind.

“…wet dog?” Steve finished, because it really was possibly to ignore. 

“It’s cute when you finish each other’s sentences” Dugan teased, having caught the quiet exchange.

Steve opened his mouth to retort, but then his attention snapped back to where Peggy and Morita were emerging back into the clearing, followed by what could only to be presumed to be the contact who was supposed to help them get into the city. 

He was scruffy and unshaven, dressed in a ragged uniform with a rifle slung over his shoulder, and in the last light of the day his scars were vivid, as though he had wrestled a bear at some point. Steve knew better than to judge a book by its cover, but all his senses were screaming at him that this man was dangerous.

He looked round the clearing at all the Commandos standing around, but when his eyes fixed on Steve he stopped in his tracks. His expression twisted, contorting the scars on his face, as he growled something, presumably in Greek, before spitting on the ground at his feet. Not exactly the actions of an ally, and evidently Bucky thought so too as Steve felt him tense at his side.

Peggy, who had continued for a couple of paces before realising their new friend had stopped walking, turned to reply, her tone cautious. The air in the clearing seemed to electrify and Steve couldn’t take his eyes off the newcomer.

“What did he say?” Dugan said, gun in his hand, frowning. 

“He doesn’t like Cap,” It was Gabe who answered, sounding cautious and confused, and Steve felt like everyone turned to stare at him all at once; everyone except Bucky who kept his sights firmly fixed on their contact.

Peggy cleared her throat, faced schooled, but before she could say a word, the man spoke again. This time they were treated to a long tirade, the guy gesticulating angrily. Peggy remained impassive in the face of it. 

“Well that looked like some speech…” Dugan’s voice was dry as he shifted on his hip. The man was still glaring at Steve, breathing hard, nostrils flared.

“I’m not sure this is all that helpful,” Peggy’s eyes flicked over to Steve just for a moment, and suddenly he understood. He felt cold right to his core because the man knew. 

“But what did he say?” Gabe persisted, frustrated at having caught a word or two, but clearly missing the gist of the conversation. Peggy sighed, buying herself a little extra time while she tried to think what on earth to say. In the end she decided to brazen it out and hope that it was met with the same incredulity as the Lamiae.

“He said, more or less, that ‘his kind will end us all’,” Peggy tried to colour her tone dismissive, hoping that Steve would hold it together, or what was more likely, that the Commandos would mistake the look on his face for confusion. “Along with his,” she turned back to the man, repeating a world in Greek. Their contact spat again before answering in English.

“Serf,” he pronounced the word with extreme distaste. Peggy sighed again, mouth drawn together in disapproval, deliberately not looking at Steve.

“He means ‘slave’,” Morita looked wary and there was a quiet ripple of disconcertion amongst the group.

“I would suppose he is talking about the serum,” Peggy shrugged, even though she, Steve and Bucky knew damn well that wasn’t what the man was talking about. Hopefully it would be enough. 

Then the man pointed at Cap, voice gravelly and heavy with anger. While they might not have understood the exact words, the meaning was clear and the whole thing ended with even more gestures and spitting.

“Well I’ve had enough of this,” Dugan growled. “If he’s not going to help…”

“I agree,” Peggy nodded, turning back to the man and reeling off a string of words that nobody understood, but resulted in the man hissing and all but bolting from the clearing. There wasn’t quite a sigh of relief as he disappeared from view, but a few shoulders dropped, shortly before Falsworth quietly suggested that they move location swiftly, before their friend returned with any more of his comrades.

Bucky turned to start organising, asking Morita his thoughts on whether south or west would be a better direction, when Steve’s voice cut across the clearing. “What was that bit at the end?” 

Bucky swung round coz Steve just couldn’t leave it alone, he just had to ask. Who cared what the guy was saying, Bucky wanted to put a bullet between his eyes just for the way he had pointed at Steve, like he was damning him, condemning him.

“He said,” Peggy was shaking her head, playing it up, because she knew Steve wasn’t going to let it go, just as she knew that as much as they pretended to be checking the perimeter or their weapons, the whole group were listening in keenly. “He said, that if we were to meet under a different moon, he would rip out your heart as you stand, and then watch it burn.” 

Steve’s face just about broke Peggy’s heart. Beside him, Peggy could see Barnes. His poker face was much better than Steve’s, but his jaw was drawn tighter than she’d ever seen, barely containing his boiling rage behind the façade of the calm sniper. 

“Well that’s hardly polite,” Falsworth broke the stunned silence that followed such a pronouncement. There was a murmur of agreement before Bucky barked out the command to get their stuff together so they could get the hell out of there.

It was a tense march south, the rage rolling off Bucky in waves as he marched just behind his Captain. Dernier followed a few paces behind, leaving a few surprises for anyone on their trail.

They were soon clear of the woods, and Peggy’s sigh of relief was audible. 

+

Bucky was taking first watch at the makeshift camp they put together after marching in a straight line south away from the city for just under five hours. The others had bivvied down, confident in Dernier’s path of explosives, and the sure ears and eyes of their Sergeant.

After the first hour, Steve had given up on trying to sleep and was scrutinising a map, presumably so that they could come up with an alternative plan of approach for the city now that their guide had fallen through. Bucky would have loved some coffee but the mountainside didn’t offer much protection as it was, and they daren’t light a fire. 

They didn’t need to talk about it; they both knew how close they had come to having Steve’s secret blurted out to the whole platoon. Bucky couldn’t help but wonder how they would take it, whether they would have even believed it. But the fact remained that they had been extremely lucky.

Neither of them were particularly surprised to hear Peggy moving around in her tent, emerging to join them. And bless her, she even had a flask with her, which she passed to Bucky silently, before sitting herself down next to Steve, peering over his shoulder at the map. 

“Well, I suppose it answers one question, at least” she murmured, as though continuing a previous conversation. It would be dawn in two hours and already the horizon was beginning to glow with the promise of sunrise. 

Steve said nothing in response to that, and Bucky could only snort, taking another swig from the flask, understanding her meaning all too well. Steve clearly still carried enough of the scent of a vampire to be recognisable to those who knew it. For all the serum had done in restoring his heart beat and the full function of his lungs, he was still essentially vampire at his core. He felt strangely calm about it all, almost peaceful.

“And,” she continued, casually stretching her legs out in front of her. “I think we just met our first werewolf.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, before breaking into a full grin, face suddenly handsome in the half light. He elbowed Steve who didn’t even twitch, but then turned to grin right back, and then all three of them were laughing. They were freezing on a mountainside in Greece in the middle of a war and they’d met up with a fucking werewolf.

“Well,” Bucky coughed, recovering first. “We’ll need a different way in. And new contacts.”

They’d need a new rendezvous point, too, as the woods were unlikely to be safe, even if it wasn’t a full moon for the next week.  
But for now, the three of them were content to sit and watch the stars go out one by one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My usual thanks to Sarah and Claire for reading over this for me.
> 
> Also thanks to all the lovely folk who've subscribed and left kudos and comments - you're all wonderful x


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"After all, Judy Garland was telling them to have themselves a merry little Christmas, and who was she to argue?"_
> 
> Christmas 1944

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo gentle readers - I'm sorry for the delay. This is definitely very much a live fic, but for some reason this chapter was giving me some trouble.
> 
> But here it is - a happy smutty interlude. Enjoy!

They found themselves in Suffolk, some sort of air base that didn’t mind a bunch of Americans taking up space over the festive period. The Howlies were taking advantage of some R&R by heading to the nearest drinking establishment in a town a few miles over. They’d tried to get Bucky to go with them and it had been tempting but he really wasn’t in the mood, so instead he found himself in the common room, fiddling with the wireless in the hope of finding a decent tune.

By and large it had been a successful year. They’d manage to raid and dismantle – if not completely destroy – all the bases on Steve’s map. Schmidt had been driven back to whatever rat hole was his main base of operations, although it was a great source of frustration that the final base still remained elusive to them. 

Bucky finally found a station he was happy with and slumped down in one of the lumpy couches, letting his head fall back and his eyes close because he was exhausted. There'd been a few close calls this year, and not just the werewolf they’d bumped into. Lamia had turned out to be a thoroughly paranoid and eccentric city, with garlands of dried garlic hung over every front door. The Howlies had found it hilarious, quipping about superstitions they knew from their neighbourhoods back home. At first Bucky thought Steve was hanging back and keeping quiet because it was such a touchy topic. There had been plenty of superstition and old wives tales back in Brooklyn, and one might even argue that ignoring those superstitions had been what ended them up in this mess in the first place. But then Bucky’s nose started to itch.

Steve was sniffing and trying to hide it. He’d had plenty of practise trying to hide his ailments back in the 30’s, so it took a while for Bucky to catch on.

“You ok there, pal?” he muttered under his breath after the third subtle sniff from their Captain. He got a glare in response and Bucky almost laughed it was so familiar. Of course, it was the garlic. Even though Steve wasn’t necessarily ingesting it, the sheer volume of garlands at every turn in the city was having a profound effect. As before, his body didn’t know what to do with itself. The itching around his eyes and nose was fading in and out as fast as blinking, as the two sides of his nature fought against each other. Even Bucky’s nose was suffering under such an onslaught. 

Of course Dum Dum noticed, and then it was all whispered snorts and cat calls, because Captain America was sniffing like it was the end of a sad movie. No amount of “cut it out and focus on the mission” stopped the chuckling and guffawing, but apparently it didn’t strike any of them as odd that the Star Spangled Man with the Serum should suffer a sudden blocked-up nose.

Bucky groaned, losing himself in the easy sound of the muted trumpet. He missed music the most when out in the field. Even the most mundane of tasks – darning socks and polishing boots – had been made better by music back home. Funnily enough there hadn’t been much of it to be found in the European mud, so he planned to take full advantage of clean socks, warm showers and actual music for as long as it lasted.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Bucky cracked an eye to find Steve leaning against the doorframe, watching him. He smiled and closed his eyes again.

“A man who is tired of music is tired of life, Stevie,” Bucky drawled, and over by the door Steve chuckled.

“Not sure that’s the actual quote, there, Buck.” Steve chided. “Though I half expected to find you dancing.”

“No one to dance with,” Bucky sighed, final opening his eyes and pouting slightly, before shooting a sly grin. “Unless…?” He raised a teasing eyebrow. 

+

Peggy was following the strains of Judy Garland down the hall towards the common room. She thought all the Commandos had swanned off to the pub, so her only thought had been mild irritation that someone had left the wireless on. But she paused at the sound of voices. The door was slightly open, and through it she caught a glimpse of Steve and Sergeant Barnes.

Clearly they also thought everyone else was down the pub as well, because she found it hard to believe they would be doing what they were currently doing at the risk of being mercilessly ribbed by their squad. Bless Steve’s heart, he was stood awkwardly, hand resting on Barnes’s waist, looking very much like a fish out of water, brow furrowed similar to one of Colonel Phillips’s strategy meetings. Barnes was trying to get him to step in time with the music but without much success.

“You know, this would have been a whole lot easier back when you were five foot four,” Barnes teased. “Could’ve had you stand on my feet so I could lead.”

Steve glared in response, but there was no heat in it, just a flash of something soft as he met Barnes’s gaze, before looking down at his boots. He caught Barnes’s feet two steps later, making him hiss.

“I’m no good at this, Buck,” Steve grumbled, trying to step away, except Barnes wouldn’t let go of his hand.

“It’s a slow dance, Steve, not the lindy hop,” Barnes shot back, and Peggy caught sight of his face in profile, grinning broadly, and slightly pink of cheek.

“Mind if I cut in?” They both looked up in surprise as Peggy entered the room. Steve blushed, which was adorable, and Barnes stood back respectfully, fully expecting Peggy to have a go at coaxing Steve into a dance. His face creased into a surprised but pleased smile when she offered her hand to him instead.

She supposed that was fair; they hadn’t exactly started out the best of friends. But the war was long, and she understood him a little better now. And after all, Judy Garland was telling them to have themselves a merry little Christmas, and who was she to argue?

Barnes surprised her; he was a good dancer, with his hand respectfully above her waist. He was right, it was just a slow dance, but he moved confidently, with none of the front or bluster she might have expected. She glanced over to where Steve was gawping, eyes flitting between the two of them, wide and hungry, and she exchanged a smile with Barnes. 

“Come on Stevie,” Barnes’s voice was light, teasing. He paused their dancing to hold out an inviting hand, glancing over to Peggy with a grin. For a moment, Peggy was certain Steve would refuse, so she, too, held out her hand. He shot them both that shy look that echoed the man he had been before the serum, looking up through his fringe, and then he was walking to them, taking Peggy’s hand. 

Steve slotted between them with ease, settling his hand naturally at Peggy’s waist, the other at her shoulder. Having got that far, the lost look returned to his face, staring up at her hopelessly, before jerking his head over his shoulder, looking to Barnes for what to do next.

“Come on Stevie,” Barnes murmured, just behind Steve and catching Peggy’s eye. “Like I showed you.”

Slowly, carefully, the three of them began to move, with Steve leading in the middle, Barnes at his back, coaxing him through the steps, Peggy keeping him steady and grounded. Steve let out a shaky laugh, and some of the tension left his shoulders.

But then Barnes tried to step away, to leave the two of them to their slow dance and the soft crooning of the wireless. Steve instantly broke away, turning and reaching out behind him, only narrowly missing the toes of Peggy’s shoes. And suddenly the room changed around them, a charge prickling at the back of Peggy’s neck because Barnes looked caught, just a flash across his face as though trying to communicate with Steve through telepathy. Then it passed, and Barnes returned to stand behind Steve, this time pressed up tight behind him, a hand at his waist, almost resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve settled back in place. 

And then it was different, the room warmer, an. unspoken agreement between the three of them. Peggy understood that they were letting her in, letting her glimpse something no one else had ever seen. She moved her hand so it settled over where James gripped Steve’s waist, smiling encouragingly over Steve’s shoulder. 

They found their rhythm, moving comfortably with Steve sandwiched between them, the boys stepping together, leading Peggy round the cramped common room, laughing easily amongst themselves as they avoided the furniture. The war felt far away, just for a few moments. It was effortless and so, as another song came to an end, it was easy for Peggy to lean forward, stealing her first kiss from a wide-eyed and bashful Steve Rogers.

At the same time she tightened her grip on James’s hand, daring him to step away and ruin this moment. James stayed put, and so Steve stayed put, and after a few startled seconds, he responded.

+

Damn, but Peggy had a tight grip, and Bucky wasn’t going anywhere, wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, she had a point. If Bucky had stepped back at that moment, like he’d been trying to all night – to be the gentleman and leave Steve with Peggy like it should be – then Steve would have turned tail, would have broken apart and pulled away to see where he’d gone.

All the same, following them into Peggy’s quarters was another matter altogether, and Bucky couldn’t help but loiter anxiously by the closed and locked door, certain that he should be leaving them both to it. But the tightness in Steve’s shoulders was back, and it was just a different kind of dancing, really. Bucky took a deep breath.

“James,” Peggy had removed her court shoes and walked in stocking feet towards him with far more confidence than he felt. He cast one final glance over to where Steve was watching them, that same expression back when he and Peggy had simply been dancing – _just_ dancing, like the dance halls back home. “May I kiss you?”

He looked back over to Steve, even though he knew Steve was hardly going to punch him for making moves on his girl, especially not when the only one apparently in any fit state for making moves was Peggy herself. 

It had been a long time since Bucky had tasted lipstick, and it flashed through his mind whether he could taste Steve on Peggy’s lips. Steve made a noise, a soft whimper, bringing Bucky back into the present. But far from sad or jealous, he looked wrecked, flushed. Steve looked starved.

Bucky knew Steve had alluded to Peggy knowing – or at least suspecting – about them. He bet good money that Steve could hear Bucky’s heart pounding across the room because they were all on the edge of a pretty big cliff and about to go over. Soft fingers stroking down his chin drew his attention back to the beauty in front of him, and Peggy’s expression was soft and understanding. 

“Steve,” she murmured, and he was crossing to them in a flash. She nudged him, smiling, steering him towards Bucky. “Go on,” she encouraged, nodding her head. 

Well, this Bucky knew. Kissing Steve was like breathing.

“You’re beautiful,” Peggy gasped softly, and Bucky felt Steve smile into their kiss.

For all that he and Steve had talked in their most private moments, Bucky had absolutely no idea how this was supposed to work. Peggy pressed up behind Steve, kissing his neck until he turned, leaning into her, so Bucky nipped up Steve’s throat, nuzzling into the warmth of the nape of his neck.

At some point, fingers began to work at buttons and ties and belt buckles, followed by the soft flump of shirts and trousers hitting the floor. It wasn’t hurried, exactly. Time seemed to be flowing at its own rate beneath Bucky’s feet, and soon they were tumbling onto Peggy’s queen bed. 

Peggy was hot, still in her brassiere and slip, lying on her back and guiding Steve’s hands, and Steve seemed more than happy to be led. Bucky tucked himself behind him, kissing up Steve’s shoulders, running his fingers across his waist.

“Uh, this is great and all,” Bucky felt that, ok yes, he was lying in bed with the two of them in just his shorts, but perhaps a bit of clarification would go a long way. “Could you tell me – us – what you have in mind?”

Peggy’s smile was full of mischief as she leant forward to whisper in Steve’s ear, low enough so Steve would hear it, but Bucky didn’t catch a single word; all the while she maintained eye contact with Bucky just behind him. While he couldn’t hear what she said, he sure heard Steve’s sharp inhale.

“Is that ok?” she asked, louder so Bucky could hear.

“Uh,” Steve replied intelligently. Peggy leant back on her elbows, crossing her ankles and raising an eyebrow in question. 

Steve was beet red as he turned to Bucky. “So… What _did_ she say?”

+

Peggy thought her heart might beat out of her chest. She had never imagined, never believed, that something like this might happen. At the same time she was thrilled, the butterflies in her stomach just feeding her excitement.

She had thought for a moment that she might have put Steve’s lights out with what she had whispered to him, being unusually explicit in what she wanted. But she had needed to be clear because if Steve didn’t want that – if James didn’t want that – then they needed to talk about it now. At least James had dropped the terrified bunny expression, relaxing into the situation comfortably, and agreeing whole-heartedly to Peggy’s plan.

Steve removed first her slip and then her panties gently, tugging them slowly down her thighs and then off completely, before leaning down to kiss her just above her knee.

“That’s it, Stevie,” Bucky was behind him, and Peggy exhaled, trying to push away the sensation of being exposed like this. 

Steve may have been inexperienced, but there was a reverence to his touch, and it made little lightning bolts crawl up Peggy’s spine. She could hear James’s voice, soft and coaxing, feel Steve’s hands on her thighs, the warm ghost of breath before he kissed her hip. 

“Peggy?” Steve sounded wrecked.

“Yes,” she breathed, and then arched at his first touch. 

+

Bucky wasn’t quite sure how this was his life, but watching Steve go down on Peggy was unbelievably hot. She had one hand knotted in his hair as Steve grew in confidence, moving on from little kitten licks to lapping and suckling on her clit, and Peggy was beautiful in response. Her other hand was toying at her nipple, hard beneath her fingers, and it was tempting to crawl up beside her, to cup her breast and press kisses down her throat, maybe scrape his nails across the sensitive skin of her belly.

But that wasn’t part of Peggy’s plan, and Bucky had a job to do. 

Steve was kneeling on the bed, bent forward in his task, relaxed and settled and taking courage from every sound Peggy made. He’d already removed his shorts, so Bucky was treated to the glorious expanse of Steve’s back leading down to his tight waist and gorgeous arse. 

He traced his fingers down Steve’s spine, smiling at the familiar way Steve shivered beneath his touch. He teased at the cleft of Steve’s cheeks, and Steve sat back on his heels.

“Nuh-uh, Stevie,” Bucky chided, pressing down between Steve’s shoulders. “Don’t you be keeping Peggy waiting, now. You got better manners than that.”

“Jerk,” Steve huffed, shooting a grin over his shoulders, before seizing him in a quick, messy kiss. Then he turned to kiss Peggy, before returning to his task. Bucky kissed Steve’s shoulder before reaching for the Vaseline.

+

When Steve’s fingers joined his tongue, Peggy arched into it, needing more, feeling the edge of her orgasm playing at the base of her spine, just out of reach. And Steve was making the most amazing sounds, pressing deeper between her thighs

She hadn’t been sure exactly what or how it was between Steve and James, and she supposed it wasn’t entirely fair for her curiosity to be sated in such a fashion. But she trusted them to tell her if they were unhappy or uncomfortable, and Steve didn’t seem all that uncomfortable right now.

And besides, they were both beautiful like this. James’s hair was mussed, and his lips were cherry red. Steve was flushed all the way down his chest and his pupils were blown almost black.

Steve crooked his fingers, watching her face as he sat back on his heels. There was a small complaint from James as he had to pause with… whatever it was he had been doing… but then he appeared over Steve’s shoulder, and he nipped at Steve’s neck just as Steve’s thumb teased over her clit, and Peggy came loudly, shivering through it.

When she could breathe again, they were folded up together on the end of the bed, James’s arm thrown over Steve’s shoulder in casual intimacy, both bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, and she laughed, throwing her head back and tempted to chuck a pillow at the pair of them.

“Everything ready, sergeant?” she sassed, feeling warm to her toes and ridiculously elated. James gave her a sloppy salute and a cheeky “yes ma’am.”

But then they were crawling up the bed to lie beside her, and it was so much easier to take a moment, to share kisses lazily. She gasped, pleased, as Bucky seized a nipple between his teeth, teasing it, only for Steve to follow suit with her other breast. Hands were everywhere, skirting over her hips and thighs, playful and tantalising.

Steve made a sound like he’d been punched, keening, and Peggy realised Bucky was teasing him again, pressing at Steve with his fingers, and a bolt of lust shot through her. 

“You good?” she spoke softly, not wanting to break the spell. Steve nodded, exhaling slowly. She looked to James who was grinning like a cat that had the cream and the canary. He nodded at her before biting down on the meat of Steve’s shoulder. 

It took a bit of work between the three of them. Peggy had never really been one for lying back and thinking of England, but there really wasn’t any other way for her plan to come off, and the queen bed creaked beneath the three of them, making them giggle as they sorted themselves out. It was good, the three of them like this, kissing and laughing and shuffling together, working it out. James passed Steve a small but vitally important packet with a wink which earnt him a shove to his shoulder. She saw James grab a second packet and rip it open with his teeth.

+

“Steve?”

“Yeah. Buck?”

“Uh-huh. Peggy, y’ok?”

“Yeah.”

+

Steve was tight as Bucky pushed inside. He held Steve’s hips firmly because they needed a delicate balance; Bucky couldn’t just pound into Steve, even if he wanted to. Because that wasn’t part of Peggy’s plan.

“Peg,” Steve groaned, his hands on her shoulders as he sank into her. She answered with a moan of her own, her finger nails pressing into Steve’s back as Bucky pushed full inside him. 

Then they started to move. Careful at first, trying to find a rhythm that worked for them. But once they got moving, Bucky had never felt anything like it. Everything was sound and sweat and heat. Peggy was keening and shivering, and the shoulders in Steve’s back were rippling beautifully. Peggy was touching herself, and Bucky had to stop himself from reaching round out of habit. 

Peggy moaned, enjoying the burst of another orgasm. Another time, another place, she thought, she’d like to ride him; press him into the sheets and have her way with him. She could feel every movement, every thrust from James at his back. She felt the heat rolling off both of them, the way James clung to Steve, kissing as much skin as he could, murmuring endearments and encouragements, telling Steve how good he was, how good he felt.

“Ain’t he great, Peg?” James gasped, his Brooklyn accent sounding broad. “Best guy there is.”

“And you,” he continued, after a moment. “You should see both of you,” he sounded like the wind was knocked out of him, like he couldn’t quite believe was he was seeing, and Peggy almost laughed because she couldn’t quite believe it herself. 

“Peg,” Steve’s eyes were closed, his hair matted and clinging to his forehead. “Peggy, please.”

She reached up to tease at his nipple, enjoying the resulting groan. His hips stuttered, and Peggy clenched around him, digging her nails into the hard muscle of his arms.

“What do you think, James?” she teased, not able to keep the tremor out of her voice. “As he been good, do you think?”

She felt Bucky respond to that, three hard thrusts making the pair beneath him cry out and moan. Steve clenched her hand, and James’s hand smacked down over both of them.

“I think you should – uh – should make him wait,” James huffed. Steve’s eyes were rolling back in his head, chest heaving. 

“Please,” Steve grunted, stuttering slightly. “Please, Peg. Buck.” It was pleasing to see him losing his words like this, lose himself completely to the two people working him over. 

Peggy was feeling wrung out. Steve was fucking her slowly now, going at the pace Bucky set, long and deep. Her muscles contracted tight, arching into the sheets as a full body shiver vibrated through her down to her toes.

“Steve,” she sighed, eyes fluttering, trying to focus. “You can… Steve.”

“Peg,” and with that, Steve buried himself in her shoulder, breath hot against her neck. She barely registered the sting of his teeth; for a moment it was just them, Steve holding her and them moving together. She felt Steve come, holding him as close as she could as she shuddered through the aftershocks.

“Stevie,” she heard James’s voice, quiet and breathless. And Steve was moving, changing position, rolling onto his back. James took the condom from him, tying it off and casting it aside. She rolled into Steve’s side, snuggling into him as James situated himself between Steve’s legs. James grabbed the meat of Steve’s thighs, hoisting them up. Even though he’d just come, Steve was already hard, his cock curving up towards his hip. 

“Buck,” Steve was whining, and the pair of them were a sight to behold. And James was fucking into him like she just wasn’t there, not a cold shoulder by any means – quite the opposite. He moved openly and without inhibition, kissing Steve with hunger and need, two bodies that knew each other perfectly. It was beautiful.

“Peggy,” Bucky rasped, flashing a grin at her before nodding at the obvious, and then raising an eyebrow in invitation.

She rolled her eyes, but took Steve in hand nonetheless. The sound Steve made was entirely worth it. He keened loudly as Peggy brought him off, splashing across her hand and chest as James continued to fuck him. 

Bucky bent down, curling as tight into Steve as possible, and twisting in invitation. Because it didn’t matter that Peggy was there, Bucky needed this, needed to feel Steve in the closest way they could. He sighed happily as Steve turned his head into Bucky’s neck and there was that familiar sting that Bucky craved so much. He came hard, collapsing into Steve’s warmth, feeling centred, and safe and the happiest he’d been in a long damn time.

+

“I should go,” Peggy opened one eye from where she was basking in the warmth of good sex. Bucky was frowning, the golden moment fading faster for him, ever the realist. 

“You should stay,” Peggy said firmly, not quite ready for the moment to pass. His face contorted with conflict, but he shook his head.

“It’s one thing to catch you two in bed. But me as well?” And dammit, but Peggy knew he had a point. Another reminder that these two had been hiding so much for so long, and there was a reason they had been so successful. She expected Steve to agree, maybe even to start moving himself.

But he shot out his hand to grab Bucky by the wrist.

“Stay, Buck,” he whispered.

Bucky got back into bed.

+

Steve lay folded between Bucky and Peggy, and he could feel the soft thump of Bucky’s heart at his back, steady and safe in its familiarity. In front of him, Peggy was a vision, her brown hair fluffed across the pillow, watching her breathing softly in his arms. He was warm and content, and he loved and needed these two amazing people so much.

Steve was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Sarah and Claire who really have been invaluable - reading through and being wonderful with their support.   
> I'll try not to leave it 70 years before the next update...
> 
> If anyone has any questions, you know where I am :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Agent Carter?” Peggy looked up; the girl was young, probably late teens. She looked nervous, but there was something else, something sad and cautious in her eyes. “Colonel Phillips would like you to join him in his office.”_
> 
>  
> 
> Happy New Year 1945.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, gentle reader - and welcome back.
> 
> Now, please be cautious, this chapter contains canonical character death. Temporary, but it's there all the same. So tissues, chocolate and kittens on standby please.

They were only a couple of months into 1945, and things were looking up. The Yalta conference had everyone hoping that the “unconditional surrender” Roosevelt had been calling for since 1943 might actually be feasible. The war could end this year; that was a thought indeed! People were finally allowing themselves to hope.

But the cost of the war was already making itself known. The Russians were advancing from the Eastern front, while the Allies pressed on from the west, and with liberation came new horrors, and the reports pouring in sent shockwaves across the Allied countries. There had always been rumours, reports. But no one had really thought, really believed… it was unthinkable, surely! But clearly someone had imagined the unimaginable.

Closer to home, the search for Schmidt’s secret base had taken a new direction. Attention had turned to a ratty little man called Arnim Zola, who seemed to tail around after Schmidt wherever he went. By tracking Zola – or better yet, capturing him – the SSR hoped to smoke out the main head of Hydra. The Howling Commandos had set off three nights ago, heading for mainland Europe in the hope of finally bringing this wild goose chase to some sort of head.

Peggy was back in London, for the SSR had its fingers in many pies, and part of her job was to keep abreast of everything, all the information that poured in from around the world, and sift the good intel from the mediocre. She was so engrossed in a report from Egypt that she wasn’t immediately aware of the notary loitering by her desk.

“Agent Carter?” Peggy looked up; the girl was young, probably late teens. She looked nervous, but there was something else, something sad and cautious in her eyes. “Colonel Phillips would like you to join him in his office.”

Everything seemed to stop. The clatter of typewriters and the noise of the busy communications office seemed to fade out, replaced by white noise rushing in Peggy’s ears. Colonel Phillips wasn’t above yelling across a crowded room for her attention, or storming in on meetings and barking at her to hurry the hell up. She couldn’t remember a single time when she’d been sent for. The notary was blinking hard, fingers clenching nervously. Whatever it was, she already knew. Peggy rose to her feet and thanked her, walking out with her head up and shoulders back, ignoring all the eyes that followed her.

The Colonel was grim and to the point; told her to shut the door and take a seat. He didn’t soften it or offer any platitudes. He stated the facts. The mission had been a success but there had been a casualty. 

“They’re on their way back now. Then they’ll come straight back here for a debrief.”

Peggy nodded, feeling numb and completely detached from the entire conversation. “So it’ll be a couple of hours at least.”

Somehow Peggy couldn’t picture it; couldn’t see Steve in the back of a plane without James. Colonel Phillips sighed, looking at the telegram in his hand, and she wondered which one of them must have sent it, reporting the terrible news and making it final. Probably Jones, she thought. Jones would have done it.

“Go home, Agent Carter.”

+

London was still making the same noises; the trams rattling along, the click of heels on the pavements. The conductor nodded to her as she got on her usual bus, the ticket machine ringing the same way it had just that morning.

It wasn’t until she was back at her lodgings that it really began to kick in; the heat creeping up the back of her neck, her hands trembling as she ran the taps on the tub in the bathroom along the landing. She ran it to the line, her designated five inches of water for that week, and to hell with the rest of the week, she couldn’t quite see past the end of the day. And Steve was still in a plane flying over Europe, having left James behind.

Sitting in the shallow warm water, sponging her arms and legs, she let herself go. First slow tears, then guttural sobs, her whole body shaking with it as she thought about his smile, his hands, the way he looked at Steve. She rested her head on her knees and cried, feeling hopeless and wretched and destroyed.

She washed her face in the basin with cold water, before wrapping herself up in her dressing gown and returning to her room, feeling wrung out. She curled up under the eiderdown and allowed her mind to wander, dipping in and out of consciousness, not dreaming or thinking of anything in particular. She felt empty. 

It was getting dark when she eventually stirred, climbing out of bed so that she could begin the process of putting herself back together. Each item of clothing was like donning armour for the battle that was to come, and she wasn’t about to let the side down. She faltered a little over the stockings. Silk was so hard to come by, but James had given these to her just a few weeks before, stopping at her desk and winking, saying they were “a gift from Cap” which they both knew was a lie. But it was a sweet lie that she appreciated, and it was worth it for Steve’s blush when she thanked him for them when she next saw him, in front of a thoroughly unimpressed Colonel Philips. She found herself laughing in spite of herself at the memory, brushing a quick treacherous tear from her cheek, because she just couldn’t lose it again now. She was needed.

Finally her hair and makeup, pinning her curls in place and making sure everything was spotless and perfect. She was ready. 

Having returned to the SSR HQ, Peggy wasn’t quite sure where she should go. Everywhere was uncharacteristically quiet, the news having spread. It was never easy to lose someone, and James had been a popular face around the office. Howard wasn’t in his lab, but then Colonel Phillips stuck his head out of his office and beckoned her in.

Morita and Jones were just on their way out, having clearly just been dismissed by the Colonel. They looked exhausted down to their bones, nodding as they passed. Morita looked like he wanted to say something, but the Colonel told him to shut the door behind him.

Peggy’s head felt clearer than it had earlier, even though it felt like days rather than hours since she had last stood in that room. The Colonel didn’t say anything, he simply slid a manila folder across the desk to her.

It clearly needed typing up; Jones’s handwriting was the easiest to read, followed by Falsworth’s cursive, but DumDum’s chicken scratch was almost indecipherable and she felt sorry for the poor typist who would have to translate it.

It read like every other mission report. The drop off, the rendezvous, the setting up of a base of operations. They had received intel of the target’s route and possible interception sites. It had all been so normal, business as usual. Until it wasn’t.

_Captain Rogers suffered a hit and was incapacitated by a Hydra Operative. In an effort to defend his Captain, Sergeant Barnes took a hit that knocked him out of the train. Captain Rogers was unable to reach Sergeant Barnes before he fell._

_Target Acquired._

_Sergeant J B Barnes missing, presumed killed in action._

Peggy took a deep breath and closed the report.

“Where is he now?” Her voice was steady, ringing loudly in her own ears, trying not to imagine what she had just read in cold, concise words. The Colonel pursed his lips, and Peggy wondered if Steve had even turned up to the debrief. For one wild moment she even considered that he was in the infirmary, either sedated, or perhaps still recovering from the hit alluded to in the report. 

“He said he needed a drink,” the Colonel replied.

+

The bar had been closed for some time, having been bombed out in ’44. It didn’t feel like just over a year had passed since that night, when Steve had come to recruit his commandos. They had all been very different people back then. So much had happened.

The chill of the night air followed her in through the partially collapsed front wall into what had once been the bar parlour. The wood was rotten with damp and she could smell the mildew, but she knew he was there. 

He didn’t turn round as she climbed over the rubble to join him. He’d somehow managed to find a chair that wasn’t broken so that he could sit amongst the ruins, quiet and contemplating. Peggy found her own stool and perched on top of it, grateful for her long trench coat. 

The bottle in front of him was almost empty, and his eyes were puffy and red, as though he had just run out of tears. They sat in silence together for a moment, well beyond words.

“It hurts,” Steve said at last, voice croaking in the dark. He sniffed, lifting his hand to place it over the middle of his chest. “Right here. Like someone pulled my heart right out my chest. Something’s snapped.”

Peggy didn’t know what to say. Steve and James’s relationship was a complicated enigma and she had always felt privileged to have been allowed to see even the small glimpses they gave her. She placed her hand over his where it was resting on the table, hoping he understood. She knew it wasn’t the same, but she was still here for him.

Steve sighed, dropping the hand over his chest to his knee, shoulders dropping in defeat. He took a long breath before exhaling slowly.

“What am I gonna do now, Peg?”

+

Steve answered his own question less than a week later.

That foolish man. That brave, ridiculous, extraordinary man. The radio crackled into static, and as she sat in that room in the middle of the Alps feeling more alone than she had ever done in her entire life, Peggy felt like she understood what he had meant. There was a terrible, physical ache in her chest, just like an elastic band had snapped back against her skin after being stressed under extreme pressure. 

And there was a little spot of emptiness inside her that endured for the next seventy years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end. obviously :-p
> 
> love and flowers to Sarah and Claire, who allow me to feed off their screams.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Even though they had already blown open SHIELD’s phase two project, Tony was rather curious about anything else they might have been cooking up. He did a few searches, nothing really piquing his interest. He had half an idea to look up Nick Fury’s file, because what a coup that would be; spying on the ultimate spy. Needless to say, whatever passed for SHIELD’s HR department didn’t appear to have anything stored on the hellcarrier mainframe._
> 
> _But there was a file relating to the discovery and recovery of one Captain S G Rogers. Tony just couldn’t resist._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello gentle readers
> 
> we've taken a bit of a leap forward in the timeline here. Thank you to all you lovely people leaving kudos and comments - I really appreciate it.
> 
> As usual, if anyone would like anything tagged, please let me know.

2012

Tony Stark was never bored, it just wasn’t in his vocabulary. However, he wasn’t above procrastination, and idly perusing the data Jarvis had obtained from their recent stint on the hellicarrier seemed like a rather reasonable way to spend an afternoon. Better than yet _more_ paperwork and forms relating to the clean-up and rebuilding of Midtown in the wake of the Chitauri invasion.

Even though they had already blown open SHIELD’s phase two project, Tony was rather curious about anything else they might have been cooking up. He did a few searches, nothing really piquing his interest. He had half an idea to look up Nick Fury’s file, because what a coup that would be; spying on the ultimate spy. Needless to say, whatever passed for SHIELD’s HR department didn’t appear to have anything stored on the hellcarrier mainframe. 

But there was a file relating to the discovery and recovery of one Captain S G Rogers. Tony just couldn’t resist.

A lot of information was already in the public domain, especially after the Battle of New York. The Smithsonian was already planning a big display, and had made applications to Stark Industries for any soundbites or contributions which, Tony was sure, someone was looking into on his behalf.

Tony had to admit it was quite the fairytale: every post-war American had grown up hearing the stories about Captain America and his Howling Commandos, fighting the good fight across Europe to rid the world of Hydra. Although not everyone had grown up with Howard Stark as their father, and Captain America as the perfect image of a phantom older brother that Tony could never hope to live up to. With each and every fuck up came the same disappointment from his father; Steve Rogers would never have done any of that. 

How could Tony possibly measure up to the man who had died saving the world? He never would, so he hadn’t even tried.

And then, to add insult to injury - and to prove just how perfect he was – Captain America had the audacity to come back from the dead.

First impressions had not been favourable, to say the least; more like disastrous. 

But, like the old saying went, there’s nothing quite like an alien invasion to change a man’s mind. Tony felt as though he had finally, briefly, glimpsed the man behind the sparkly outfit, and what he saw was someone hopelessly lost. 

Eyeing up the file, Tony pondered the pros and cons of giving into his curiosity. Chances were that not even Rogers had seen it. Howard had been heavily involved in the search immediately after the war. It had been his great unfinished work that seemed to haunt him for the rest of his days. It would be a gross breach of trust. But then it might also have some fascinating insights.

The first couple of pages were rather boring; the initial report from early April 2012 relating to the Russian oil team that called it in, the location of the Valkyrie inside the Arctic Circle. Stark Industries had been contacted to see if they could help with the extraction, and at that point there had been a sense of relief because maybe, just maybe, some of his Dad’s old ghosts might finally be laid to rest.

As far as Tony recalled, the powers-that-be got as far as picking the flowers for the massive funeral the nation was planning, right up until someone pointed out that the war hero they were preparing to bury wasn’t quite dead. 

Here the reports picked up a little. It turned out there had been a number of meetings to decide what to do next. The recovered body of a war hero was fairly straight forward to deal with; but this was a whole new ball game. It was well documented that cryonics hadn’t quite advanced to the point where reviving a frozen person would be successful. There were the occasional news stories about some poor soul found in the snow, apparently frozen to death, but who then regained a heartbeat once they’d been heated back up. However those cases usually involved hours as opposed to decades. 

There was a whole ethical discussion over whether they should attempt to revive him, what state he might be in, what effect the lack of oxygen might have had on his brain. Captain America as a living vegetable was not a headline anyone wanted. Perhaps it would be kinder to just let him slip away and never tell anyone that he’d been alive when found. Let the legend carry on. Really, it was a fascinating glimpse into the SHIELD mind set, and Tony wondered what Aunt Peggy would have said about it all.

The actual decision and who made it was omitted from the documentation, but on 17th April 2012 Captain Steven Grant Rogers regained consciousness in a recovery room in New York. The date gave Tony pause. That was… barely two weeks before Loki stole the Tesseract. He supposed it should have been obvious but it had never really occurred to him that when he first met the good Captain, he was only three weeks out of World War Two. That sounded like one hell of a headache. 

Feeling rather sombre he clicked on the health examination report, not expecting to see anything other than, despite being in ice for seven decades, good old Captain America was in the best of shape for all sorts of serum-related reasons. What he hadn’t expected was the small observation noted at the bottom of his blood screening.

?? Pathogen.

Now that was interesting. He clicked through the notes, scanning for any interesting details and clues. Tony was by no means a biologist or pathologist, but he could spot a virus when he saw one.

Viruses needed a host, destroying cells in order to multiply and flourish. From what he could tell from the extremely limited diagrams, graphs and notes, this one seemed to attack blood cells for reproductive purposes. 

It occurred to Tony that SHIELD seemed remarkably unconcerned that their number one hero was apparently sick, or was acting as an incubator to something hitherto unknown. They had noted the existence of the unidentified pathogen but hadn’t bothered to investigate or record what its affects might be on, say, an average human being that didn’t have Erskine’s serum keeping them in tip top shape.

“Jarvis? Run that through the system would you, see if you can get a match?”

“Of course, Sir,” Jarvis replied, and Tony left him to it, still pondering.

Because if Capsicle was sick… surely the whole point of the serum was to keep him at his best? So why hadn’t it devoured this…whatever it was? Flicking through a couple more screens confirmed what Tony already suspected; Cap’s white blood cell count was low; it was not behaving as though Steve’s system was under attack. 

“No match found, Sir,” Jarvis replied. Tony hummed. He could do some research into the various forms of viruses out there, especially RNA or retroviruses, but something told him this was different.

Unfortunately it was impossible to tell from the data he had how voracious the pathogen was, although if it attacked and destroyed red blood cells, then surely Steve should be chronically anaemic. Unless the nature of the serum meant that his body could keep up with cell production, allowing the virus to feed and multiply quite happily with Rogers’s system as its host.

But what if Steve didn’t know about it? A nasty thought started nudging the back of Tony’s mind. Tony knew that it wasn’t completely outside of the realms of possibility that SHIELD might have implanted some sort of control to keep their asset in line.

“Tony?” 

Stark jumped as Pepper appeared behind him, looking both amused and exasperated which, yeah that was a fairly familiar look for her. She looked around at the screens of notes and diagrams detailing the molecular structure of viruses. “Trying to find a cure for the common cold?” she enquired lightly, teasing.

She knew what Tony was like, how he got buried in the small details, picking and picking until it was fixed or destroyed.

“This is new,” Tony mused out loud. “Jarvis can’t match it to anything. No one else has ever had this bug before. And it’s a nasty one, I can tell.”

“Oooh,” Pepper indulged him, wrapping her arms round his waist. “You mean it’s a new mutation of something old? Or it’s just not been recorded before.”

That… was a fair point. It could be a mutation distorted beyond recognition by the super-soldier magic potion bottle of mystery. It could also be some nasty bug Steve took into the ice with him before it could be officially recorded by anyone and categorised.

All the same, Tony knew what the serum had been designed to do. It had made Rogers stronger, taller, sorted out his asthma and his scoliosis. In fact he was sure Rogers had suffered anaemia during the war to the point of requiring blood transfusions. Why the heck hadn’t the serum eaten this thing?

“Wait,” Peppers eyes narrowed in on a page of notations. “These are Steve’s notes? Tony…” and he rolled his eyes at the tone of reproach because he loved her dearly but she was being a little slow on the uptake.

“Yes, I know, I was snooping. I’m sorry,” although he wasn’t sorry at all, but he clasped her hands because he needed her to understand. “It was probably highly unethical and absolutely Not the Right Thing to Do… but wasn’t it just as well?!”

He turned to bring up the screen showing the evidence that the pathogen had a particular appetite for red blood cells. 

“There is, and I quote, an unknown pathogen in the bloodstream of Captain America. And from what I can tell, SHIELD doesn’t seem all that bothered. Which makes me wonder, does he even know?!”

Pepper was looking at him doubtfully, eyes uncertain. It had been a rough couple of months for them, and she’d been treating him with kid gloves and he knew it; indulging him and his obsessions a little more than usual because it made him happy. But Tony was sure he was right about this; what reason would SHIELD have to tell Rogers there was something wrong with the serum? 

“Maybe we could invite him over for dinner,” Pepper said at last.

+

Steve had spent a good portion of his childhood being told he was probably going to hell by a squat Irishman with an angry red face, yelling fire and brimstone from the pulpit every Sunday. Sarah Rogers had told him that if he was a good boy, said his prayers and ate his greens then he would probably be all right.

Neither the priest nor his Ma could have predicted what would happen to Steve, not in the autumn of 1940, or in 1943, or any of what followed. He was so twisted and torn and broken down and remade that he wondered if his soul – if he even had one anymore – would be recognisable, all things considered. 

Bucky had always said it was a bunch of nonsense designed to stop you having any fun, but Steve had never quite shaken off the catholic fear of purgatory and hell. As he’d pointed the nose of the Valkyrie to the sea, Peggy’s voice soothing in his ear - and she’d been so brave, with him to the very end – he wondered if he could even die. His mind had flashed to the spectacular failure of that first dawn on the roof of their building. Was he the sort of creature that could be killed in anything so mundane as a plane crash? He hoped so. And he hoped that, wherever he ended up, Bucky would be there too.

This, Steve considered, felt an awful lot like purgatory.

He was very much alive and in perfect condition, while everyone else he had ever known was dead. Well, nearly everybody. Peggy was fighting fit - in body at least - at the grand old age of ninety-one. Steve couldn’t see it in his mind’s eye; couldn’t imagine Peggy’s whole life flashing past. He postponed the offer to go see her, wanting to find his feet a little more first. 

The future was a little too bright; all neon and all the time. The city had always been loud, but now there were all sorts of unfamiliar noises keeping him up at night. Everything buzzed and rang and shouted at him with its foreignness and unfamiliarity. He just wanted to go home.

The detail that convinced him that this really was earth and reality and his actual life now, was the ever-present ache in his chest that told him Bucky was dead. Everything was edged with an undercurrent of hunger that could never be satisfied by the human food he continued to consume to keep his body running smoothly. 

Feeling over-sensitised all the time made him bad tempered, almost like the pre-serum days when it was getting close to time for him to feed. And thinking about that made his chest hurt even more, so he pushed it down and took his frustrations out on other things like the punch bags down the local boxing club. And Tony Stark.

A lot of frustration had been aimed at Tony Stark. He looked enough like Howard to make the differences feel like actual punches to the gut. He had the same feckless whimsy and arrogance that fuelled his creativity, with an added hard edge and aggression that set Steve’s teeth on edge. He didn’t even understand why Tony poked at him so much but he had no reserves about poking back. Which had worked out about as well as one might expect. Steve imagined his Ma’s disappointed face, her sighed “Oh Steven,” because he couldn’t turn the other cheek. Not even once.

And besides, he’d been wrong about Tony. Watching him fall out of the sky had been like watching Bucky in reverse, with all the same feelings of complete helplessness because just how was he supposed to stop a man falling through the air at terminal velocity with just a shield? They’d parted on good terms, shaking hands with a new understanding of one another. Tony had gone back to rebuild his ugly great monolith in Midtown, and Steve had gone back to the pokey apartment SHIELD had set up for him in Brooklyn. It had hardly felt real, but then nothing did these days.

Getting the invitation to dinner had come as something of a surprise, then. He’d done his best to find suitable attire; when he’d contacted Tony to enquire about dress code, Tony had laughed for a clear three minutes for telling him to “try not to be an old man, Rogers”. That hadn’t exactly been a help. 

His Ma hadn’t brought up a bad-mannered boy, either, so he made sure to pick up some wine. He chose one bottle of each colour as he wasn’t sure what was being served, and cringing at the price tag because everything was so eye-wateringly expensive. He only hoped they wouldn’t serve anything with garlic, though he couldn’t imagine how he could possibly broach the subject in advance without raising difficult questions. It wasn’t until he was en route to the tower that it occurred to him that maybe no explanation was required and it might be acceptable to say he just didn’t like it.

They didn’t serve anything with garlic. There was champagne to greet him, as Tony introduced him to the famous Ms Potts Steve had heard so much about. She was dressed simply, and was extremely welcoming. She thanked him for the wine, complimenting his choices, and setting the red out on the side to come up to temperature. There was something about her, a sort of strength that reminded him of Peggy a little bit, especially the way she worked around Tony, and got Tony to work around her. She chatted easily, helping Steve relax while Tony prattled on, never still, even when they went through to dinner.

They had clearly pulled out all the stops, because the tingling in Steve’s palms told him the cutlery was sterling silver, the burns healing themselves even as they formed.

“So, Cap,” Tony sat back in his chair, wine glass in hand. “How’s modern life treating you?”

Steve took a minute to consider the question, aware that he wasn’t actually being interviewed, but it was yet another variation on the same theme he was asked time and again. How did he like the 21st century, had anyone told him about the moon landing yet, did he know about this band, film, major political even of the past sixty years…

“It’s a lot to take in,” he said at last, after the silence stretched on too long. “But I’m getting there.”

“Did SHIELD help you at all?” Pepper was leaning forward, chin resting on her hands, and face creased in concern. Steve felt a rush of warmth for her. 

“Well, they gave me a list, a folder really. I went out to this retreat for a couple of days to try to get my head around some of the things.” He came to a stop, because what he really meant was that he had been trying to get to grips with the fact that the war was over, and that he was alive and alone, and all he had to help him had been a couple of sheets of paper and a laptop that he had no idea how to use.

And there had been a list of notable events from the last half century that meant precisely nothing to him. A second list detailed a whole bunch of allegedly famous people, most of whom appeared to have died in their mid-to-late twenties. Just like him. He wondered if it had struck any of them that it had been kind of insensitive. 

“What about when you first came out the ice?” Tony had put his glass down now, and was scrutinising Steve as though trying to read his mind. “Did they say anything? About you and… how you’d survived?”

Steve swallowed, feeling suddenly like he was under a spotlight. In all honesty he didn’t know how he’d survived. The last thing he remembered was the earth rushing up to meet him, the wind making his ears hurt. SHIELD hadn’t even said how they’d found him, much less anything about their theories pertaining to his miraculous recovery. He felt a spike of suspicion, wondering where Tony was going with all this.

Tony sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, and he looked tired. Even after the Chitauri invasion he’d still been buzzy and restless, dragging them all for shawarma, even though they were all dead on their feet and in need of a bath and a change of clothes.

“Come on, I’ve got to show you something,” he stood up, motioning Steve to follow him to his lab.

Steve stared at the rolling screens of data, the lines of notes and the diagrams that looked like doodles to his extremely untrained eye. Tony was looking jittery, fiddling and gesticulating with a well-chewed pen as he pointed out one screen in particular.

“As I was… perusing,” he intoned delicately, and Steve frowned because while he hadn’t known Tony all that long, he knew that innocent tone was a load of crap. “I found this.” He pulled up a graph of peaks and troughs and looked vaguely like a heartbeat. 

“What is it?” he stared at it uncomprehendingly, aware of Pepper loitering in the doorway, chewing on her lip. Whatever it was, it had her worried too.

“SHIELD called it a “query” pathogen’,” Tony explained, raising his fingers for the airquotes. “A microorganism that causes infectious diseases. It’s a fragment of genetic material that needs a host in order to reproduce.” 

Steve looked at it, wondering how Tony could know all that from a squiggly line, and wondering just exactly what it had to do with him.

“As far as we know, this one attacks red blood cells. I mean, I’m not an expert but I’ve not seen a virus like it,” Tony stood beside him, flicking to a different screen, just as meaningless as the last. “Not even Jarvis can identify it. And it’s in you. You’re the host.”

Steve felt something creep down his spine, mind blanking out for a moment. 

“I can’t get sick,” he said at last. “The serum….” 

But then he understood, and he almost laughed right there in Tony’s lab because it was funny. Well, it wasn’t. It was awful, and poor Tony looked freaked out and Ms Potts who had been so nice to him was clearly very worried about this unknown pathogen he was playing host to.

"Do you know what it does?” He asked carefully, wondering how much he should give away, looking back at some of the other screens. Clearly SHIELD hadn’t known what to do about it, other than record its existence. 

Tony shrugged. “You’re not exactly sporting a fever, Cap,” he was fiddling with the pen again. “No massive rash or bruising. In fact, according to the rest of your blood screening, you’re not fighting any infection at all. I’d think it was part of the serum, except _that_ looks like this,” he waved up another screen, another graph with peaks and troughs that looked very impressive and rather more colourful than the virus. 

“We were concerned,” Ms Potts spoke up, and she had her arms folded, looking serious. “In case you didn’t know about it already. If it was something… SHIELD might have given you, without your knowledge.”

Steve really did smile then, feeling calm and slightly taken aback by such an honest show of concern. He didn’t doubt for a second that Tony was itching to get a blood sample, if only to satisfy his curiosity of something being previously unknown. But they were also worried about him, and that was… nice. No one had worried about him in this century.

“SHIELD didn’t give it to me,” he assured, looking back at the first screen, somewhat amazed that he could look at the thing that had changed his life so profoundly. He had never really thought of it as an illness before. And actually, what Tony said about it destroying red blood cells made a whole lot of sense, now that he thought about it. 

“Oh,” Pepper made a surprised noise, and Tony raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “You… know what it is then?”

Steve smiled, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck because he had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to explain this one. He exhaled slowly and sat down on one of the chairs scattered about Tony’s lab.

“You ever heard of the New York Vampire Panic of 1940?”

+

Of course, Tony didn’t believe him. And Steve didn’t blame him, because if Tony Stark had come round to Steve’s for dinner and then announced that he was a vampire-human hybrid, he definitely wouldn’t have believed a word of it.

“Look, there’s no such thing as vampires,” was the refrain for a good ten minutes, and at one point Steve was convinced Tony was going to start la-la-la-ing with his fingers in his ears. 

The fangs went a small way to convincing him. And he submitted to an x-ray and a MRI Scan. (“seriously, why do you even have one of these?” “They come in more useful than you might think.”) 

He described his reactions to garlic, and to the effect silver had on his skin. Finally, in a similar way to how he had shown Peggy all those years before, he borrowed Pepper’s powder compact, the pair of them gasping at his lack of reflection.

It was strangely cathartic to describe the attack, listing out his symptoms which Tony jotted down into his computer, culminating, of course, in his “death”. Tony found it fascinating. It wasn’t smart for a virus to kill of its host too quickly without passing to another host. So it didn’t just change the cells and replicate itself, it changed the fundamental DNA of the host to accommodate it.

“Fascinating!” he declared for the third time in as many minutes. Steve exchanged an amused look with Pepper who had also taken a seat, happy to watch Tony think his way through this.

Steve stopped short of permitting a blood sample. Because it had never occurred to him that this might be something he could communicate to someone else, however accidentally. And suddenly he felt guilty, wondering if Peggy was ok, if he might have… infected her somehow. After all, he had bitten her, that time at Christmas ‘44. He hadn’t even realised it at the time, and afterwards she hadn’t let him apologise, saying it hadn’t hurt and actually she’d rather liked it. And then he thought about Bucky. He’d fed from Bucky more times than he could remember, and all the time he’d been putting him in danger. They’d been so stupid.

“So vampires exist,” Tony pulled himself up on a counter. “I am in a room as an actual vampire – oh my god!” a thought seemed to strike him, and he pointed at Steve accusingly. “Did you ever bite my Dad?”

Steve rolled his eyes, not even bothering to respond.

“All this time we thought vampires were little pale kids listening to misery music… but here I have graphs and data showing it to be a _virus_ ,” Tony shook his head. “This is… incredible.”

“So, why didn’t the serum create the antibodies to destroy the virus?” Pepper interrupted, because Tony had been rhapsodising without pause for the past five minutes. Tony’s brow furrowed, apparently stumped.

But Steve thought he knew. He remembered his talk with Erskine the night before the procedure. The serum enhanced what was already there. Good became great, bad became worse. Being a vampire, as long as he wasn’t hungry, had made him stronger than he had ever been in his life up to that point. It had sharpened his senses and given him reserves of strength, and that was all while surviving on the very least he could get away with. 

The serum didn’t attack the virus because it didn’t see it as a threat, it only enhanced it. It cured his hunger. Made him a perfect machine, feeding the virus all it needed to keep him at full strength. As long as he ate, he produced fresh blood cells for the virus to use to keep multiplying. The serum and the virus working in tandem together in the perfect cycle.

Silence fell on the lab as Steve mused this out loud.

Then Tony snorted.

“Holy shit, Captain America is a fucking vampire!”

+

“So, funny story,” Natasha fixed Steve with a particular look that stood the hairs up on the back of his neck. “Apparently Captain America is really a vampire.”

“Oh really?” Steve tried to sound innocent, resulting in a thoroughly flat and unimpressed look from the Black Widow.

“You’re a terrible liar, Rogers,” She shoved his shoulder, smiling gently, or as gentle as Natasha ever got. “You could have told us, you know.”

“I don’t know what I am,” he said honestly, and it felt good to breathe it out loud. 

Everything was still so chaotic. Even though he’d indulged Tony a fair amount with poking and prodding and endless questions, there were still things he kept to himself. Private things, Bucky-shaped things. Tony was easy deflect, but he knew if Natasha bit into something she wouldn’t let go.

It was something he had never spoken about, not really. Even with Bucky and Peggy it wasn’t something he really wanted to talk about. He’d had a lot of time to think about the circumstances that had led him to the twenty-first century, and for the first time he had wondered what had become of the shadow that had attacked him in the first place; had it been a vampire, or simply a creature on which the vampire myths were based upon? 

He had always assumed that he had been created by accident, that the shadow had intended to leave him for dead, but only Bucky’s careful ministrations had saved his, well, not his life, but certainly his existence. And even if Tony was right, and it was just a virus like influenza, just with some added unexpected side effects; that didn’t change the fact that his heart had stopped beating for a couple of years. 

Tony had gone through all of his “symptoms”, hypothesizing about the aversion to garlic would be to protect the body against anything that would thin the blood and potentially affect the energy supply. The reaction to silver was a chemical reaction with his skin. 

“What about the reflection thing?” and Tony had scoffed, twirling a screwdriver in his hand because _it’s preternatural, Rogers! Just because science can’t explain it now, doesn’t mean it won’t explain it someday_.

“I have a theory,” Tony burst into the room, making Steve jump, but Natasha just rolled her eyes.

“Historically, you’re the only person ever to have successfully received the serum, yes?” This was something of an uncomfortable topic. It had been brought to Steve’s attention shortly after his arrival in the modern day that people had been trying to recreate super soldiers but without much success. Most cases were fatal, and those that weren’t… well. It hadn’t exactly worked out all that well for them.

“Oh,” Natasha’s eyes widened slightly, shooting a glance at Steve. He got there a few seconds behind her.

“They weren’t successful,” he sighed, suddenly feeling every one of his ninety-four years. “Because they were trialling it on humans.”

Steve really hoped no one ever told Bruce Banner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do thank Sarah and Claire for their tireless support - and to all you lovely people. thank you. I love hearing from you - comments give us authors life x.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _On his first night in his new apartment in Washington D.C., Steve Rogers woke up with his heart pounding and the ache in his chest suddenly burning. He was out of bed and across the room before he really understood what he was doing, consumed with the urge to get out, to find Bucky._
> 
> If Vampires are real... then is it possible for ghosts to be real too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello gentle readers
> 
> I am determined to finish this fic sooner rather than later, and we are getting there! Thank you for sticking with me.

_2014_

On his first night in his new apartment in Washington D.C., Steve Rogers woke up with his heart pounding and the ache in his chest suddenly burning. He was out of bed and across the room before he really understood what he was doing, consumed with the urge to get out, to find Bucky. He slid down the wall and sat for a very long time, head on his knees, trying to get his breathing under control because Bucky wasn’t out there to be found. Whatever phantom was calling to his blood, calling him from his bed, it wasn’t Bucky. Bucky was dead.

It was 2014 and Steve needed his head on straight.

The next morning he marched into the Triskellion, business as usual, the hole in his heart having reduced back to its usual dull ache of absence. Steve had a job to do.

+

It had taken him a while to summon up the courage to visit Peggy, not sure how he would be received after all this time. She had led an amazing life and Steve couldn’t be happier for her, or more proud. Time had taken its toll, of course, and he understood from the family that while physically she was very strong, her mind tended to wander these days.

“You probably hear this all the time,” she chuckled, the first time he visited. “But you really do look like him.”

“Who?” he asked, before he could stop himself. Only minutes before she had gasped happily, reaching out to take his hand.

“Steve,” she said simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s been dead such a long time now,” she added sadly. “Poor Steve.”

Steve swallowed. He remembered the instructions from Peggy’s granddaughter very clearly; he was to agree with everything she said, and not contradict her or correct her because it just made her upset – especially about names and dates. Steve had promised, but it was a punch to the gut nonetheless.

“He loved you,” Steve croaked, squeezing her hand, and her whole face broke into another benign smile. 

“You know,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I think he did. Darling boy.”

That had been a very small part of why he had agreed to move. After that first visit, he wanted to visit her as often as he could, and some days she was perfectly lucid, knowing exactly who he was. On those days they chatted easily while she told him about her life, and those were the best of times. There was something soothing about being in her presence. It would be nice to have more good days.

Another reason was that Brooklyn was stifling. Everything was different, which was as it should be after such a long time. But strangely, Steve found the things that were still the same, that were familiar, to be the hardest to deal with. He had once known Brooklyn like the back of his hand, and perhaps, if it had been completely different, it might have become his home once more, eventually. Instead it was like a cracked mirror, the reflection only partially recognisable but otherwise distorted. Steve hated it and fled.

+

Washington was nice; calmer than New York. There was less pressure down here so he could throw himself into his work. He hoped there would be something familiar and comforting in being part of a team again, trying to find his place in the world. Natasha was always poking him in her unsubtle way to get out there and find a hobby, make a friend. And as loathe as he was to admit it, she was right.

His whole life had revolved around Bucky and Peggy and the war for so long. It was time for Steve to discover who he was away from all that.

Sam was a pleasant surprise. It was quite a leap for Steve, starting a conversation with the guy, but it proved easier than he thought. Well, they had early-morning running in common, so that was something. And then it turned out Sam was a vet. He was easy to talk to, even though it had only been for a few minutes. There had been no stuttering or request for a selfie, and Sam hadn’t seemed at all star-struck in his presence. It was nice. Steve had counted it as a success.

+

Steve was exhausted, jogging up the stairs to his apartment after a decidedly long day at the office, and still pissed off at Fury for the nonsense with the Lumarian Star. Steve had rewarded himself with a trip to see Sam, making good on that offer to pass by the VA. But now he was feeling itchy in his skin, like he wanted to peel it off. Everything felt uncomfortable, like there was something he was supposed to be doing, something important he had forgotten about, and it was driving him to distraction.

His neighbour was on the landing, chatting into her cellphone. He’d seen her a few times, said a quick hello in passing, and despite feeling tired and irritated, he decided to do one more good turn to make Natasha proud, offering the use of his washing machine. She was sweet in declining his offer, and her parting smile gave him a little confidence that he might potentially have another friend to add to his list. 

“Oh, I think you left your stereo on?” Steve thanked her, watching her soft smile in response before she disappeared down the stairs to the basement with an arm full of laundry.

In all honesty, he had assumed it was her music, his mind filling in the most obvious reason for him to be hearing music in the first place, however distantly. He’d peripherally heard it as he walked up the street, blending in with the sounds of the sleepy city. Now all his senses ran pin-point focused. Through the door he could hear laboured breathing, and a heartbeat that was slightly raised, working hard, and he didn’t immediately recognise it. There was, however, a scent that he did recognise only too well; someone was bleeding in his apartment.

As he crept out of the hall window and shinnied across to his own apartment window, he felt a thrill in his gut, a rush of adrenaline to his system that made him feel almost relaxed and more at home than he had done in the past two years. But as soon as he raised the window, he was clicking in annoyance.

“I don’t recall giving you a key.”

His own heartbeat was pounding in his ears and he felt keyed up, on edge. Fury was in his apartment, was _bleeding_ in his apartment for reasons unknown. At the same time Steve’s whole body started to protest, his senses suddenly going in to overdrive, almost to the point where it was hard to focus on what Fury was telling him.

_Shield compromised_.

The shots, when they came, felt almost like a release, Steve gasping for breath as he looked for the shooter through his bedroom window. He caught a flash of metal and then everything in his system was yelling at him to run - not away but towards - to chase the man down. So he did, calling over his shoulder to his so-called neighbour “tell ‘em I’m in pursuit”.

His legs were working really hard as he tracked the shooter across the neighbouring building, his whole body alight with the thrill of the chase. All his senses lit up as he burst through the window out into the night air – the tang of pollution from the traffic below, sharp flowers from window boxes, the dry concrete of the gravel - rolling into the landing on the roof, casting his shield to catch the assailant before he escaped. 

The man turned sharply, catching the shield in his hand, and Steve gasped, his whole world stilling. He was aware of the blood rushing through his veins, the way his hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Black eyes stared at him for a moment, before the man threw the shield back at him, using the full force of that strange metal arm, almost knocking Steve off his feet.

When Steve looked up, the man had gone, leaving him staring out into the night. Steve felt disoriented and lost, as though he had just missed out on something vitally important.

+

Order came through pain, and he was no stranger to it.

They gave him his mission and he delivered. They gave him direction and he moved. There was no need for meaning or rationale. No need for why. 

_Soldat, your mission_.

But underneath that, like an itch, was something else. Something greater than the mission.

There was nothing greater than the mission.

He was the fastest, the strongest. He did what he was told and he was good at it.

_Your mission  
Confirmed death in ten hours._

While the others showed lack of subtlety and talent through a waste of ammunition, deploying their weapons without grace or precision, he strode with purpose through the field. The fist of Hydra. His weapons were comfortable, powerful, and his focus should have been singular. But always the undercurrent, the pull of something else.

Want.

He didn’t know how to want. Hydra rejected want.

The man on the bridge was good, but he fought defensively and that would be his downfall. He was able to match the man easily, twisting and pushing, every part of him tingling as he shoved back harder. There was a sort of familiarity in the movement, a sense of anticipation to every step. And when they touched it was like fire. He craved the fire.

Within the fire was knowledge.

He knew him.

The man on the bridge, staring right at him, position altered from defensive to open – broad and tall like an idiot with no sense of self-preservation – and he knew him.

It was a glimmer of knowledge, frustratingly close and yet just out of reach. It rubbed at him like an old wound.

Hydra saw it  
And they took it from him.  
Knowledge was not useful.  
Want was not useful.

Only pain.

+

Lying in hospital, his body knitting itself back together slowly but surely, Steve made a promise. Bucky was counting on him, whether he knew it or not.

Everything hurt and it wasn’t just about the gunshot wounds or the knife wounds. It was like 1945 all over again. Steve remembered all too clearly what it had been like to watch Bucky fall. 

It was easy to regret all those wishes for Bucky to be alive. Because now he had what he wanted; Bucky was alive, and under the control of the same people he had given his life fighting against. Talk about being careful what you wish for…

Steve couldn’t afford to be angry right now, because that was how mistakes were made. He promised himself he would bring Bucky home.

+

“My friend, you are in pain,” Thor pronounced, observing Steve with a frown. He had come down from Asgard to help his friends in their time of need. 

Hydra may well have been dealt a punishing blow, but there were still a few heads that needed finishing off. And besides, Bucky was still in the wind. Despite what Sam said about needing to take it easy so Steve could be at his best, waiting around just wasn’t Steve’s style.

Besides which, Steve didn’t think he’d ever be able to repay the kindness of his friends. Sam and Nat had turned their lives upside down for him. Tony had opened up his home. Bruce and Clint had come, and now Thor. 

There had been a lot of heated discussions about the reappearance of one Sergeant James Barnes, not least of which was how he had survived to become the Winter Solder in the first place. Steve was convinced it was down to whatever Zola had done to him back in ’43. 

“And I would agree with you,” Bruce had said gently, ignoring the way Tony had thrown his arms up in the air. “But we already know what happens when serums are tested on humans.”

“Say what now?” Sam queried, looking to Natasha for an explanation.

Steve hadn’t needed reminding of that, thank you very much, and so had retreated to his corner to continue feeling ill and wretched all by himself. Ever since D.C. his whole system had refused to behave itself. It was like his blood was on fire; he was prone to violent shaking, terrible pain in his neck and shoulder and chest. Then he would be fine, until he wasn’t, at which point he would have to run for a sink, and honestly he couldn’t remember the last time he had been sick. And as if that wasn’t enough, more often than not he threw up blood. 

Tony ran multiple tests but they all came back fine. Steve wasn’t in multiple organ failure, there was no perforation or internal bleeding. Temperature was at its baseline, and his heart rate and blood pressure reflected the same as all his medicals over the past few years.

“I’m told everything is fine,” Steve managed through gritted teeth, aware that his hair was matted with sweat and that only five minutes before, Natasha had pronounced “you look godawful, Rogers”.

“It is your shield brother, he is still missing,” Thor bowed his head solemnly. “Bonds can behave erratically when they are disturbed so.”

“I… what?” Steve felt a little lost, like he’d skipped a few steps in the conversation.

“Well, you have all the symptoms,” Thor raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You are bonded and have been violently separated, and so your blood calls to each other.”

“Steve’s blood does a lot of things,” Tony shouted from the other side of the room. “But I’ve yet to hear it say anything.”

“Perhaps it has a different name here,” Thor mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully, and then suddenly looking sad. “My mother knew more about it, but of course…”

Steve nodded in sympathy, ignoring the hurriedly whispered conversation going on between Nat and Sam. 

Tony pushed his feet against the wall to propel himself on his chair across the room to join in.

“Hang on, what are you saying about a bond? You say it’s making our Star Spangley man sick?”

Steve supposed Tony had a point in being concerned. The UP in his bloodstream had so far been satisfied with Steve as a host, as long as his body kept up with demand. If the serum was no longer keeping it happy, there was a real risk of a serious relapse. Steve remembered only too well his final moments alive in 1940, and he had no wish to go through that again.

“I cannot be certain. Blood Magic is an ancient magic, long studied and argued over in the halls of my fathers.”

Steve felt a bit foggy with the way Thor spoke about it. The advantage of 21st century life was that it had allowed Steve to feel like a real human; less vampire-human hybrid, more person living with a mostly dormant disease. Talk of ancient magic made him feel like a monster under the bed again.

“To form a blood bond, there first must be a particular combination of acts, truly powerful and entirely binding.” Thor was frowning in concentration, trying to recall the correct information. The entire room was silent, hanging on his every word.

“What are they?” Natasha was looking at Steve, her face inscrutable, and suddenly Steve felt too hot, almost suffocated, like he was under some sort of examination and was currently failing.

“There must be a willing sacrifice in spilled blood, on both sides.”

Steve closed his eyes. Willing sacrifice in blood. His and Bucky’s history was drenched in it. Hell, Bucky had kept him alive right up until he’d gone off to war. And then, during the war, he remembered what it had been like finding Bucky strapped to that table, how he had wanted to tear everything down and rip Schmidt to shreds. 

The vampire in him had laid claim to Bucky Barnes long before Hydra got a hand on him. It was that bond that had probably helped him survived whatever half-assed serum Zola tested on him – why he was the only one to survive the lab.

Other things clicked into place; how he and Bucky had always fought together in synchronisation, Bucky’s uncanny hearing, and the way Steve had been in actual pain once they were parted. Had Bucky been in pain all that time too?

Steve suddenly felt light-headed. To think, he had condemned Bucky to seventy years of torture a clear three years before Zola even got his hands on him. But it also might have saved him.

“So, hang on,” Tony was looking at Steve like he’d never seen him before, or maybe he’d just realised the word vampire wasn’t actually hyperbole. “You and Barnes… you _fed_ from him?”

“He was your Thrall,” Clint looked extremely serious, and Thor’s head jerked in his direction.

“That is a truly severe accusation, and not a word to use lightly,” he glowered, anger vibrating in his tone. Then he turned back to Steve with a steady gaze. “I’m sure the good Captain did not take blood by force.”

“What?” Steve thought he might be sick again. “No!” He wasn’t sure how he could possibly convince all the people in this room that he hadn’t, that he wouldn’t… and all he could see was Bucky’s smile, Bucky before the war when he was young and happy; they both had been. It was all too much.

“Bucky offered,” he mumbled, mostly to his fingers. Thor clapped him on the back.

“Willingly,” Thor repeated, glaring back over his shoulder to where Clint was standing, a lot less aggressively than he had been a few moments before. Steve felt exhausted, his head pounding. “A bond cannot be forged without that.”

“Bucky kept me alive, I would have died without him, and I’ll never be able to pay him back for that,” Steve rubbed at his forehead, wondering where the hell Bucky was right at that moment.

“But the serum fixed that, right?” Bruce encouraged. “After the serum, you didn’t need that from him anymore.”

Steve supposed Bruce had meant it well, a sort of reassurance that Steve had only taken Bucky up on his “offer” out of necessity, and that once his heart was back beating again all by itself, there was no need for what had gone before. Except Steve paused for a little too long.

“Uh, well,” he stuttered, trying to find the right words. “Afterwards it was just… uh…nice.”

There was a stunned silence.

“Holy shit,” Tony exhaled sharply. “I don’t think the world is ready to know that Cap is into blood play.”

+

Steve spent that night rolling over and over in bed, not sleeping a wink and worrying about Peggy. She was ninety-three and her mind was failing, but her body struggled on. He felt the guilt welling up as he thought about Christmas 1944. It had been one of the best nights of his life; was she tied to him too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My usual bouquet of roses to Sarah, and to Claire for all her (highly constructive) screaming.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sam was on “cheer up the super soldier” duty, and had dragged Steve out to a little café just round the corner from the tower. “Had any more midnight visits from You Know Who?”_
> 
>  
> 
> After his talk with Thor, Steve hopes to bring Bucky home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, so, back in November I said I wasn't writing anymore. Which was code for "I'm having a breakdown and need to spend three months under my duvet". I'm doing better now though :)
> 
> But I've been thinking about this fic a lot, and it deserves an ending. So this is me pledging to finish it, by hook or by crook. 
> 
> TW for a short, glib comment referencing suicide. It's just one line but I don't want to surprise anyone who doesn't wish to be surprised.

Steve was at that point in recovery where he felt well enough to be bored of feeling sick, and was becoming almost unbearable to be around. Tony was still making jokes at his expense which, in better health, he would have waltzed over with a shrug and an eye-roll, but right now it was like 2012 all over again. In contrast, Bruce and Thor were employing varying degrees of sympathy which was almost as grating. Meanwhile Nat – who had always been so good at making Steve feel human, normal – had gone underground. He tried not to feel too abandoned to deal with Stark all by himself.

It wasn’t that he was ungrateful for Tony’s hospitality– if anything, it made him feel even more wretched. It reminded him of all those many times before the war when his previous body had very nearly given up on him, which made him think of Bucky, which started the whole cycle of “Bucky is out there and it’s all my fault” all over again. He was raw, and bad tempered, and – as he yelled at full volume to a bemused and completely unruffled Tony when it all came to something of a head – he just wanted to be alone.

“Ease up there, Greta Garbo,” had been Tony’s befuddling reply, but later that day he sent U with an envelope containing a set of keys to an apartment that was technically still part of the tower complex, but felt separate enough for Steve to feel like he could breathe. It wasn’t too dissimilar to his place back in Washington, which was probably not an accident.

When he phoned Tony in an attempt to say sorry and thank you, he got a brisk “I thought you wanted to be alone” before Tony hung up on him, which Steve took to mean ‘you’re welcome’. 

+

The hand that woke Steve up by clamping over his mouth was warm flesh and blood. He jerked in confusion, half of him ready to fight whatever assailant had managed to get the drop on him in his own room, the rest of him relaxing, melting in recognition of a friendly kindred spirit. Blood called to blood, and despite the manner of the greeting, Steve felt soothed and calm in Bucky’s presence. 

Bucky’s eyes were dark, cautious. For a moment there was silence between them, and Steve couldn’t help but notice how his own heartbeat seemed to speed up a little as though trying to catch up with Bucky’s own rhythm. 

“You’re everywhere,” Bucky exhaled, his voice low, almost growling. “In my head.”

The scent of him was intoxicating, Bucky’s skin so close. It would be nothing for Steve to nip at his palm, to taste him. He concentrated on Bucky’s face instead, holding himself in check.

Bucky’s eyes suddenly widened, as though Steve had done something surprising. He pulled away, and then in a step he was out the window and gone. The whole exchange could only have been seconds long, but Steve still felt warmth of Bucky’s hand across his face, like a brand.

+

Sam was on “cheer up the super soldier” duty, and had dragged Steve out to a little café just round the corner from the tower. Steve was still looking pale, but it was more like he was getting over a cold, rather than being at death’s door. All the same, he wore that pinched expression that meant he was still trying to carry the whole damn world on his shoulders.

“Had any more midnight visits from You Know Who?” Sam asked lightly, because he doubted very much he’d get any other sensible conversation from his friend. Steve shook his head. 

“Now I know you haven’t been leaving your bedroom window open…” Sam shook his head because it was quite clear Steve had been doing just that.

“I have to find him, Sam,” Steve protested. “What if he’s…. what if he’s like me?”

“Steve, I think we’d know about it if a super soldier vampire was on a rampage in New York.”

The thought didn’t really bear thinking about; Steve might have himself well under control, but Bucky was a whole different question. From what they’d been able gather from the files, a seventy year history of torture, brain washing and violence had left him an unknown quantity. 

And after the conversation with Thor, Steve had a whole new thing to torture himself with; that he might have turned his best friend into a vampire and left him to the mercy of Hydra.

“You need to stop,” Sam sighed, but Steve was clearly not listening.

“Do you think Tony would be able to get a sample of Peggy’s blood?” 

“Dude, what?!” Sam put his glass down. “Steve, I love you man but you are losing it. I don’t know what the hell y’all got up to during the war, but Ms Carter is not a vampire.”

Realising he was attracting some stares, Sam lowered his voice, taking another sip from his drink, while Steve continued to stare at his hands. “If she had a virus – _any_ virus – SHIELD would have noticed. How many blood tests do you think she’s had in the last ten years? And if she had the same virus as you then it would have been noted when you were found.” Steve sighed heavily, sitting back in his chair with a look of extreme dissatisfaction on his face.

“I know this is hard, man. I can’t even imagine. But you need to accept that not everything is down to a decision made like seventy years ago.” Steve was pouting, probably running through a hundred reasons why Sam was wrong. “Steve, she got old. Folks get old.” Steve really did look up at him then, with a small smile and furrowed brow.

“When?”

+

It was quite clear to Bucky that Steve needed someone watching his back. After all, anyone could slip in through the open bedroom window…

_Subtle, as ever, Rogers_.

The last month or so had been anything but a picnic. Mostly it had involved feeling like the grim reaper was finally cashing all those checks from the past eighty years or so. Bucky had secluded himself away like an animal in its death throws, taking advantage of an abandoned building by the dockyard. As the chills and cramps consumed him body, Bucky wondered if it was some sort of withdrawal from the cocktail of chemicals Hydra had been pumping into him for decades. He lost time, but finally the fog receded, leaving him with confused clarity. It wasn’t the drugs.

Well, it wasn’t _just_ the drugs.

That first venture to Steve’s apartment, when everything was still fuzzy and painful and tinged with unreality, had proved a blessed moment of calm and peace. It had been so disorientating, Bucky had fled from it, still not entirely convinced of this new world and everything that came with it. 

The fevers had continued, though not quite as violent as before, his whole body rebelling against itself. But finally he was able to stay awake for a decent period of time, long enough to realise that the world was finally settling in some sort of upright position from where he could start to get himself sorted. 

He was James Barnes. He had been the Winter Solider. The full horrors of everything done to him and everything that he had done stretched out like a trail of blood through history. 

Bucky didn’t shrink from it, as much as he might have wanted to. After all the lies, the truth – painful as it was – proved a precious gift in Bucky’s hands. Now he could choose what to do next. Today and tomorrow were all down to him, his choices to make. 

Part of him wanted to leave. He couldn’t expect Steve to deal with this, to deal with _him_. He wasn’t fit for the mud on the base of Steve’s shoes. He worried about losing control, had nightmares about it more than once; reverting to the Winter Soldier and accidentally killing Steve in cold blood. He should leave. If there was anything of Bucky Barnes left, he would quietly withdraw from Steve’s life completely and put a bullet in his head. It would be the kindest thing all round.

He passed by the apartment for one last glimpse of the man he couldn’t get out of his head, like a thread tugging at him, leading him towards the inevitable. The open window teased him from his vantage point, and every so often Steve passed the window – a flash of gold hair, tempting and inviting. Steve, stubborn punk that he was, clearly had no intention of letting Bucky go gentle into that good night. The guy just didn’t know when to quit.

Which left Bucky with only one course of action.

+

Steve tried not to smile but he couldn’t help it. 

From the moment he’d woken up, Steve’s skin had itched with anticipation. _Today was the day_ , his blood seemed to whisper to him. It was like the first few days after the serum; he felt settled and healthy and ready for anything. Tony, shuffling into the kitchen for his first coffee of the day, had done a double-take. He’d then mumbled something about _someone having had their Weetabix that morning_ , before beating a hasty retreat. Apparently if there was one thing worse than a miserable Capsicle, it was one in an obscenely good mood before coffee.

Of course he hadn’t been able to stay in the tower; the sun was shining. Steve’s feet took him through the city, and he hadn’t felt this steady since the war. Something good was coming, he could feel it. He just had to wait and see.

The coffee shop wasn’t too busy, considering the time of day. Steve ordered a coffee and grabbed a paper from the rack before settling down in a booth. He opened up the paper, trying to keep a straight face but not reading a damn word, because his full attention was two blocks away. Distantly, he could hear a pair of boots with worn tread slowly making their way down the street, pausing every so often, and sometimes almost turning back. The heartbeat driving the feet forwards was strong, familiar, and as it drew closer, Steve felt the calm washing over him, his cheeks twitching almost painfully as he fought to feign nonchalance as the waitress came to top up his coffee. It was New York City at midday but it may has well have been the middle of nowhere at midnight; all other sounds died away until all Steve could hear was that glorious ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.

He kept his head down, even when the door opened, because if he spooked Bucky now, he’d never forgive himself. But when the empty seat across from him suddenly became occupied, he couldn’t help but look up. Bucky’s blue eyes were examining him, almost cautious. He looked well, for all the shadows under his eyes. Underneath the toll of the last seventy years, Steve could see his Bucky looking back at him; not the Winter Solider, not a half-crazed vampire. Just a very tired Bucky who could probably do with a bath, a change of clothes and a long sleep.

Steve cracked, breaking into a big goofy grin, and everything suddenly felt right with the world. Bucky’s shoulders to drop as he rolled his eyes, relaxing back in the booth. He picked up a menu, pretending to be overly interested in the light bites.

“Knock it off, Rogers,” he grumbled.

Under the table their feet knocked together, and Steve didn’t think he’d ever stop smiling again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading this, thank you so much for sticking with me.
> 
> Thank you to Claire for giving the first draft a thorough read through. Her screams give me life.  
> And also thank you to Sarah. Just for being awesome.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You know,” Bucky cleared his throat, “at first I thought it was fake, like something_ they’d _given me.”_  
>  “What was?” Steve stirred the coffee three times before handing it over, Bucky accepting it automatically.   
> “The whole vampire thing,” the coffee was good, which was almost a shame as Bucky’s taste buds had been anticipating the mud from 1944. “I mean, ‘Captain America is a vampire’ – it’s got KGB conspiracy theory stamped all over it."
> 
> Bucky and Steve get to grips with being in each others' lives again, while investigations are made into finally finding some answers to the mystery of what connects them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes, I am still here.
> 
> There is nothing nasty in this chapter - just some angst and feels. If anyone has any questions please let me know.

All the way back to Steve’s apartment, Bucky still wasn’t sure he had made the right call, but he recognised he was low on options. He knew he couldn’t hide down by the docks forever, and word was bound to get out that the Winter Soldier was back on the market. Even if he didn’t get reclaimed by Hydra – whatever was left of it – there was always someone looking to bolster their arsenal. Bucky shivered at the thought, drawing Steve’s eye and that shy smile.

Yeah ok, it wasn’t _just_ a tactical decision. Already, Bucky’s banging headache had begun to lift, and just like that first night he had made contact with him, Steve’s presence was soothing. Ridiculously, Bucky wanted to reach out, to take’s Steve’s hand right in the middle of broad daylight. He kept his arms by his sides and tried to focus on what was to come. 

Steve’s apartment was comfortable, but not home, and it was clear that Steve felt the same. The way he moved awkwardly round the kitchen, opening cupboard doors until he located the mugs, betrayed him as guest rather than owner of the space. Bucky’s mind went back to a different kitchen, with gurgling pipes and a leaky faucet, and a much smaller man moving around with ease, leaning up on tiptoe to reach stuff on the higher shelves. 

“You know,” Bucky cleared his throat, “at first I thought it was fake, like something _they’d_ given me.” 

“What was?” Steve stirred the coffee three times before handing it over, Bucky accepting it automatically. 

“The whole vampire thing,” the coffee was good, which was almost a shame as Bucky’s taste buds had been anticipating the mud from 1944. “I mean, ‘Captain America is a vampire’ – it’s got KGB conspiracy theory stamped all over it. Talk about a metaphor for capitalism!” He chuckled, but Steve was watching him keenly. “Anyway,” Bucky sniffed. “It’s not is it; it’s real.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, like he couldn’t quite believe it himself. Bucky shook his head. “The vampire, the serum, the war, the whole damn smash.” Silence settled over them, but it was comfortable while the world rumbled on outside. 

“Damn cat,” Bucky muttered, breaking the moment and finally getting a laugh out of Steve.

“Hey, now, come on!” Steve protested. “Let the poor cat off the hook, it’s been long enough.” Bucky rolled his eyes but he felt good. He felt warm for the first time in ages, standing in a kitchen like a regular guy, griping about Steve’s poor decision-making. 

“Actually,” Steve set his mug down, leaning against the counter and folding his arms. “It’s a virus. I’ve seen it. Well,” he paused, pouting a little as he considered his words. “I’ve seen a diagram of it.”

“A virus,” Bucky repeated, allowing the scepticism to colour his tone. 

Steve shrugged. “It behaves like a virus. Stark’s got this theory…” Bucky snorted, because if Stark Junior was anything like his old man, then he probably had a theory on everything, and surely Steve should know better.

“If you’re going to bore me to death with theories, can you at least do it where I’m somewhere more comfortable?”

They retired to the couch, Bucky kicking his feet up, boots and all, and unashamedly leaning into Steve’s side. Steve shuffled to accommodate him, and it felt so damn good. There was that familiar scent of him here, and Bucky finally gave into the fatigue. 

“Go on, you were saying?” 

Steve, suddenly finding himself with an arm full of Bucky, couldn’t help but smile. Bucky was being deliberately challenging, daring Steve to say something about feet on the furniture, or minding his own space. He was looking for a sign that he wasn’t as welcome as Steve was making out, and Steve was having none of it, letting Bucky take up all the space he needed, welcoming his weight and warmth.

Later there would be a chance for showers, clean clothes, and a meal. Later they could work out what their next move would be. But right now they could just be Steve and Bucky, in this apartment that didn’t really belong to either of them. Right now they could just breathe.

Although.

“He thinks it’s why I survived the serum,” he whispered, but of course Bucky heard him.

“Whu…?” Bucky muttered, eyes closed but brows raised.

“The serum. All sorts of people have been trying to replicate it since the 40s, but so far the only successes are you and me.” Steve swallowed. “And Stark thinks it’s because I’m… you know…”

Bucky sighed, sat up and looked at him, the sort of look Steve had seen whenever he’d come home with a bloodied nose and a ripped shirt. 

“Stark’s talking out of his ass,” Bucky replied. “For one thing, I’m not a vampire, look,” he pulled at his lips, “no teef.”

“Bucky,” and Steve was looking pained, “I’m serious. All sorts of horrible things have happened to people who have tried to replicate the serum. It was just pure luck that the serum and the virus complimented each other.”

“What about the Red Skull?” Bucky retaliated, standing up and starting to pace. “Didn’t kill him, did it?”

“I wouldn’t say it left him unscathed!” and ok yeah maybe Steve had a point about that. Peeling your own face off down to a bright red skull wasn’t exactly normal human behaviour. Bucky suddenly felt really tired.

“Look,” Bucky sighed. “I know I can’t exactly claim to be ‘fine’ but I don’t understand what you’re saying here. Either Zola somehow perfected the serum –”

“Unlikely,” Steve shook his head, the memories of the factory filling his mind. Bucky had been the only survivor, an apparent miracle at the time. 

“- or… what? I’m like you? Steve I think we’d have noticed by now!” It sounded ridiculous. Bucky tried to trace the thread of this conversation. From considering leaving, to following Steve home, to this. He briefly wondered if that was why Steve was so desperate to find him; old paranoia making him believe this might be less about the importance of their friendship, and more about solving his new buddy’s science puzzles. 

Bucky wasn’t even interested in the wheres and whyfores of why he was here right now. That could absolutely wait; living through it the first time had been bad enough. They had both found out the hard way that myths and monsters and conspiracy theories were all far more real than either of them could ever have imagined. 

“I’m just saying… that’s what it looks like.” Steve looked like he regretted saying anything at all, hands up like he was placating a wild animal. His eyes kept darting towards the door, and Bucky realised Steve was worried he was about to bolt through it. He took a deep breath and slumped back down on the couch.

“Ok, so you’re telling me that in a different life, if you hadn’t followed that damn cat out into an alley, you’d have climbed into Stark’s machine and just… fried? And I’d have died in the war…” there was a loud whistling in Bucky’s ears, and he laid back down again. 

They sat together in silence for a bit, Steve stroking Bucky’s hair in soothing motions. Then Bucky’s flesh hand flew up to punch Steve hard in the arm.

“Ow,” Steve huffed, entirely for show.

“That’s for being a punk,” Bucky grumbled, eyes closed, from Steve’s lap.

+

It had been two weeks since Rogers had bounced back to Tony’s Tower, all delighted and with one Bucky Barnes in tow. Barnes hadn’t quite been what Tony had expected – not that he had thought for one moment he would resemble the photos Tony had seen from the war; but he hardly reflected the imposing tank-like figure in the D.C. footage either, striding over cars like they simply weren’t there. Barnes looked like a homeless kid Steve had found pan-handling on the corner.

The introductions had been short, Steve trying to keep his emotions in check and completely failing, and seemingly unable to keep his eyes off the man at his side in case he vanished into thin air again. Thor professed his joy at the return of Steve’s shield brother, declaring that now their bond could heal and “all would be well”, as though it was as simple as that.

To everyone else in the room who had only ever read about Bucky Barnes in books, there really wasn’t much to say, and Barnes himself clearly wanted to be as far away from people (Steve not included) as possible. It had been a cursory flying visit, and they had retreated back to Steve’s apartment shortly afterwards. But every so often they could be found visiting and being sociable in the communal areas of the Tower. 

But it was about the same time that Steve bought Bucky home that Tony had remembered how his parents had died, how his mother had died. And every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Barnes shuffling his feet in Tony’s presence - blue eyes darting everywhere - and wondering if those were the last eyes his mother ever saw.

So Tony did what he always did (well, what he always did these days) and retreated to his lab to solve a Really Important Problem That Definitely Needed Solving. He didn’t talk about it, and neither did anyone else - at least, not to him.

He ruminated a lot, ran it over and over in his mind. Logically, he knew Hydra was the body responsible for the deaths of his parents. He could also take an educated guess that what had happened to Barnes at the hands of Hydra was pretty much worse than death. Emotionally he didn’t know how to deal with any of it. It occurred to him that maybe this was something they should have considered weeks back, when Barnes being alive had first been a thing. Instead everyone (ok, if he was being honest it was mostly him) had been so caught up in Steve being ill, that everything else had rather faded into the background.

Rogers had nowhere to go, Tony knew that. He couldn’t go back to Washington any time soon, and the powers-that-be were a hair-trigger away from summoning his Star-Spangled ass to answer a few uncomfortable questions about what exactly had happened on that helicarrier. He was safer in New York, out of sight and out of mind, and doing nothing more dangerous than the occasional jog round Central Park or turning heads in various coffee shops round the block.

And these days he didn’t even do that. After weeks of symptoms resembling the inevitable onset of death, both Cap and his new pal seemed to spend every available moment napping like the nonagenarians they allegedly were. The got up, ate, napped, ate some more, maybe went to the gym, napped, watched a movie, napped, met up for brunch with Sam, napped; and after all that would enjoy a restful night of sleep. They didn’t even have the decency to nap in the common areas where Tony could at least moan about them, choosing to mainly stick to Steve’s apartment and be as unobtrusive as possible. It was, quite frankly, obnoxiously polite.

+

Bucky sighed and rolled over, failing to find a comfy spot in Steve’s ridiculous bed. Well, apparently it was a bed. It turned out you couldn’t just have beds with mattresses and pillows in the 21st century, oh no. There had to be headboards and cutting edge design and storage needs. There were even throws and runners and cushions that weren’t even pillows and seemed to serve no purpose at all. Gone were the familiar blankets and eiderdowns and hospital corners you could bounce a quarter on. Instead you had duvets with specially designed covers in a wide variety of patterns. Captain America ones, for example. Bucky put money on it that they had been a “gift” from Stark Junior.

“You too, huh?” It wasn’t so much as a question as a statement from Steve beside him, also unable to sleep. In the immediate aftermath of their reunion they had both struggled to keep their eyes open for more than half an hour at a time. That period was clearly over, and now it was three o’clock in the morning and they were both wide awake.

“We could always…”

“No.” Bucky cut across Steve’s helpful suggestion before he even got it out.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say, Buck,” Steve was trying for the injured tone, but Bucky merely sighed at him.

“You were going to suggest a movie. I’m movied out, Steve. They all merged into one shortly after the one about the shark.”

It seemed to him that for all the bright lights of the modern world, the only thing any of them could think to suggest – Clint, Stark, even Bruce – had been movies. At least Sam had broken the mould with his musical recommendations. And usually meeting up with Sam involved actually going outside into fresh air. They were definitely Bucky’s preferred excursions away from the apartment.

“You know, back in ’41 I would have given my left arm for this much free time,” Bucky was rewarded with a choked off laugh from Steve through the darkness. It was true, though. Before the war they had both been far too poor for boredom. Even on a Sunday, the so-called day of rest, both Bucky and Steve could be found doing laundry, chores, and running errands for Mrs Barnes.

Bucky rolled onto his side, peering through the dark. He could make out Steve’s silhouette clearly, lying beside him.

“Remember what we used to do with our spare time, Stevie?” he asked in a wicked voice. He heard Steve inhale sharply; he remembered all right.

They hadn’t really talked about this part of their relationship. They had skirted round it, acknowledging their history, but had generally steered clear of mentioning it explicitly. It wasn’t for any particular reason other than they had both been feeling extremely ropey, and they had spent the past few weeks mostly asleep presumably as a direct result of all they had been through; vampires, bonds, viruses… whatever you wanted to call it.

But that didn’t mean Bucky didn’t want to bring it up, and Bucky knew Steve would never make the first move. He shuffled a bit closer, pressing up tight against the man sharing his bed.

“Every opportunity,” Steve whispered, as though unwilling to break a spell. “I wanted you all the time.”

“You got me,” Bucky murmured in response, just as Steve moved up to meet him, to capture him in their first kiss this century. 

He was used to it by now, the way the world seemed to sigh in relief around him, but that didn’t mean he was bored of the sensation by any means. 

“Oh, hang on,” Steve suddenly broke the kiss, but didn’t stray too far. “There are some perks to this century…” He pulled out two bottles, one pink and one green. “What’s your tipple of choice?” He grinned cheekily at Bucky’s bemusement, holding out the two bottles for examination.

“Using Vaseline is apparently some sort of heinous crime,” Steve shrugged, remembering vividly his lecture from Nat about good hygiene and sexual health etiquette. Bucky frowned; so these were presumably lubricants. Brightly coloured like something one would buy proudly in a shop, rather than something you pretended was for some other use. He picked up the pink one first.

“Strawberry? It smells like sweets,” he wrinkled his nose and recapped it quickly. He turned his attentions to the other bottle. “Cool mint?” Bucky raised an eyebrow quizzically. Steve shrugged, smiling unabashedly. 

“I like the tingle,” he replied easily. Right, cool mint it was.

Maybe they had a point about Vaseline being a crime, because this was about a hundred times easier than before.

Ok, so they didn’t have to worry about the neighbours anymore, and they weren’t shuffling around in a tent in the middle of war-torn Europe either. They could take their time, no hurry, and Steve could make all the noises Bucky had wished he could hear back in time when sex like this would have been impossible.

And Steve was right, the tingle was great. He could feel it even through the condom, and soon he was rolling them over, lying underneath Steve who continued to ride him hard. And maybe these ridiculous modern beds weren’t so bad after all as it easily withstood all it was given, barely groaning as Steve reached his point of no control.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped, before bending down to kiss him, hard and possessive.

Bucky could barely gasp Steve’s name in return, before he felt the sting of teeth at his throat, and that was it. With a cry he came, surrendering to everything. Steve continued to ride him, groans muffled as he drank his fill, before finally coming with a splash between them. As they lay gasping for breath, it occurred to Bucky that there really was no rush. No one was going to come bursting through the door. The war was over. They had all the time in the world. Half an hour ago that had seemed like a tragedy.

“Shower?” Steve was grinning like he was reading Bucky’s mind. Yeah, Bucky was up for a shower. And then maybe a closer look at whatever else Steve might have in that drawer.

+

Tony had been hiding, and mulling things over for a while now. He poked at his inventions and made plans for improvements on things that really didn’t need improving. Which did nothing at all to help with the matter at hand. 

Eventually, when even procrastination had deserted him, he realised that he had reach a conclusion of sorts. Probably. He threw his screwdriver down on the counter and sighed. At some point, he thought - a very distant point a long, long way into the future - he would have to decide how he felt about the whole thing; Barnes, Rogers, Hydra, the entire Cold War. But right now he was Far Too Busy for such introspections.

With that resolved, Tony stepped out of his lab, made his way to through the building, before pausing outside a door. Behind it, he could hear the sound of easy, friendly voices. He hadn’t seen anyone in days. Setting his shoulders, Tony pushed open the door to the common area.

“So, what have we got?” Tony announced loudly, like a TV doctor marching onto an ER set, ignoring the surprised glances he inevitably drew by his sudden entrance. 

The room was quite crowded; Barnes was sitting on the breakfast bar, looking a lot cleaner and less bearded than when Tony had first seen him. Rogers was leaning next to him, arms folded, apparently in broken conversation with Bruce – and at sight of Bruce, Tony felt a little less discombobulated, because if Bruce was here with his science face on (which he was) then it couldn’t be all that bad. 

Thor strode towards him, hand reaching out in welcome to grasp Tony’s shoulder.

“Come, my friend,” he smiled in that honest way only Thor could manage. “Come here and join the discussion.” Tony allowed Thor to propel him towards the group, Clint standing back to make room for him.

“I was just agreeing with James,” Bruce pretended he didn’t notice Bucky turning to Steve and making a _Told You_ face, and also chose to ignore Steve’s answering glare, “I certainly do not see how he could have the same condition as Steve.”

“Well I don’t know what else would make sense,” Steve huffed. Barnes just rolled his eyes, and that made Tony smile because ok, this guy didn’t take any of Steve’s injured martyr crap either; good to know. He then spotted the device in Bruce’s hand.

“I was just about to get a quick sample,” Bruce said lightly. “James isn’t too keen on needles so I thought a modified blood glucose meter might suffice.” 

“Excellent,” Tony exhaled, embracing the situation. “Jarvis won’t need any more than that for a quick analysis.”

“Good, because that is all he’s getting,” Barnes’s voice was croaky, as though speaking was not his usual forte. His shoulders hunched a little bit, eyes on the machine as Bruce approached. Steve was hovering like a concerned mother hen. Barnes told him to _knock it off, Rogers_ , but still didn’t take his eyes off the meter, and so Steve didn’t move.

A click and a whir and it was all over. Tony whipped the contraption out of Bruce’s hand and found one of Jarvis’s many sockets in the wall.

“Fire it up, Jarvis”

“Yes, sir.” 

Less than five minutes later they were all gathered around the holographic screens looking intently at the results in a somewhat awed silence. 

“My word,” Thor exclaimed, breaking everyone out of their reverie, “this is really most extraordinary – beautiful, even!”

“That’s great,” Bucky deadpanned. “But what the hell does it even mean?”

There was certainly _something_ there, a pathogen of unknown origin. And when it was isolated from everything else, Tony overset it with Steve’s pathogen. They didn’t match, not by any means. But laid together like that, one on top of the other, they looked almost like music. The two images complimented one another, matching in places and then mirroring in others, distinct and yet clearly connected. 

“Well,” Bruce cleared his throat. “I suppose that is a sort of answer.”

Tony kept quiet. He knew that this whole thing was as much for Bruce as it was for Steve and Barnes. Bruce’s whole life had been overturned by the legacy of the serum. After a few moments of silence he powered down the screen.

“Told you I wasn’t a vampire,” Barnes whispered, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Steve.

“Maybe it was the bond after all?” Thor considered quietly.

Tony sighed. Perhaps it was better they didn’t know all the answers. The serum, whatever it was and however it worked on this person or that person, or Bruce or the Red Skull or Steve; the serum was dangerous, and people needed to stop mucking about with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some really good news - I have finished this fic.  
> This isn't the final chapter btw, but the light at the end of the tunnel is definitely visible. Just a bit more proof-reading and poking and prodding, and the rest will follow.
> 
> Many many thanks to anyone who is still reading this fic. My apologies for how long it has taken to bring you the ending. Last year was a total write-off for me. 
> 
> All my love to Sarah, for lots of reasons (not just fic related) and a special bunch of flowers for Claire whose screams are definitely my life-force when it comes to writing.
> 
> And thank you to the lovely people who have left me comments. They mean so much, you have no idea. It's because of folks like you that writers like me keep going.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was sneaky, Tony thought. Clever, yes. But sneaky. By playing the media card, you turn the public and no one was going to care what happened next. The clean-up in DC was still ongoing, and finding out that Captain America and his friends have buddied up with the guy responsible was not going to win them many favours._
> 
> Steve and Bucky have attracted some unwanted attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! Here's the penultimate chapter.
> 
> There are some warnings for this chapter for violence (there are spoilers in the end notes if anyone would like to know what is coming in advance) There's nothing graphic. As usual, if anyone would like me to tag something else please let me know.

A few days later, Tony found Bruce in his lab, eyes glued to a microscope. Tony promptly forgot whatever it was he had been about to do, and instead greeted him with “whatever you’re doing I’m sure Jarvis can do it faster.”

“He did,” Bruce answered, not rising to the bait and keeping his gaze firmly where it was. “I’m just looking at it with my own eyes.”

Well that piqued Tony’s curiosity. He made his way over to where Bruce was peering at a petri dish of what looked like blood. 

“Whose is that?” he asked suspiciously.

“James’s” Bruce’s tone was all innocence. Tony spluttered.

“You convinced Barnes to hand over some blood?!” He was incredulous having witnessed first-hand Barnes’s response to the suggestion of further tests. Something along the lines of “fuck your science club and the train it rolled in on”. Bruce smiled at him benignly. 

“It’s amazing what happens when you say please.”

Next to the three (three!) red vials in the rack was a different one, unlabelled like the others, but containing a clear liquid. Tony reached out, curious.

“Don’t touch that,” Bruce was back looking down the microscope. Tony coughed.

“Excuse you, this is my lab?” he replied, somewhat petulant at having to remind Bruce of the basics. 

“Ok,” Bruce shrugged, “but it’s vampire venom.” Tony shrank back as though the vial might prove sentient and throw itself all over him. Bruce laughed. “Actually, it’s just a sample of Steve’s saliva. But look at this,” he stood back, indicating the microscope. Tony rolled his eyes but peered through the lens nonetheless.

“Yup, looks like blood all right,” he confirmed, wondering what all this was about. Bruce hummed, reaching for a pipette. He squeezed lightly, allowing a single drop to fall. 

“Ah, what just happened?” Tony couldn’t quite believe his eyes. He was seeing it – seeing the rapid division of the cells in the dish as they reacted with the contents of the pipette – but that shouldn’t be possible. 

“It’s amazing,” Bruce was smiling, eyes bright with the discovery. “It explains everything – well, nearly everything – about the relationship we saw between Steve’s pathogen and the one James has. They’re related but crucially different, and this goes some way towards demonstrating that.”

“But that’s cell division,” Tony argued, mind filing through the caverns of his brain to summon up what he knew on the subject. “Red blood cells are produced in bone marrow.”

“Absolutely, stem cells,” Bruce agreed. “They use erythropoietin produced by the kidneys to stimulate production. And it’s here, in Steve’s saliva.” Tony looked back down at the petri dish that had now seemed to recover itself and was presenting like a normal, harmless dish of blood cells, with absolutely nothing remarkable about it.

“That’s disgusting,” he decided flatly.

“It’s fascinating,” Bruce disagreed, taking off his glasses to clean them on his shirt. “James’s blood has re-designed itself to mass-produce on request outside of bone marrow. And, unlike most cells that deteriorate the more they divide, the opposite is observed here.”

“And you got all that from Steve spitting into a cup?” Tony looked down at the vials on the counter, and an interesting thought struck him. “So what magical properties does Barnes’s saliva have?”

“I don’t know, Tony,” Bruce turned back to the microscope with a sigh. “Why don’t you go ask him for a sample?”

Yeah, Tony wasn’t falling for that.

+

“We have a big problem.”

Tony had a not-so-mild heart attack as Nat appeared out of seemingly nowhere after months of absence. She had somehow entered the room without his observing and was now practically on top of him in all her terrifying glory.

“Hi, Nat, nice to see you too,” Tony attempted to cover his obvious shock with sarcasm, because seriously these sneaky spies sneaking up on people were just rude. But Nat had her business face on, so he attempted to pull himself together.

“Word on the grapevine is that the Winter Soldier is living a quiet life in Manhattan,” she said. “There are a lot of interested parties.”

Tony rubbed his eyes. There would be, obviously. It wasn’t as though Steve and Barnes went and sat out in Central Park in matching t-shirts, but the quick walk from the apartment to the Tower had clearly drawn someone’s attention.

“Steve won’t like it,” Nat stated the obvious, and she was right of course. Barnes and Rogers needed to come in, back within the safety of the Tower and with Jarvis’s constant watchful eye keeping track of everything. If Tony had learnt anything about Steve in the past few years, then it was unlikely either of them could come in easy, but Tony couldn’t see they had much choice.

“He’ll do it for Barnes though,” he reasoned, and Nat nodded.

As it turned out, it was Bucky who had more of a problem with it. Steve was certainly tense about the whole thing, unhappy with what felt like a defeat by retreating within the walls of the Tower. As he packed up their few possessions into a box – they didn’t have much, having never really had the time or the luxury to become attached to things – he felt a pang of regret for everything they were about to lose. But tactically he recognised it as the right thing to do. Also there was something familiar about the transiency of the situation. Steve had never been able to settle anywhere, his nomadic life always changing and always on the move. He reasoned to himself that the move back to the Tower would not be permanent either.

Steve also had to admit the apartment was not the most defensible location on the planet, and there was also a high likelihood of civilian casualties. At least in the Tower they would be able to see anyone coming.

Bucky, on the other hand, felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him. Change was not a comfort for him, it was just another disturbance that unsettled him and set him back. At least the apartment had the pretence of normality, and it had just begun to smell like home. It was a central place he had been allowed to spread out and own, and now it was being taken from him.

The Tower smelled like cleaning products and oil and office supplies. There were a mix of perfumes and aftershaves of a hundred people in a variety of suits marking their corporate careers in Stark Industries, and they all gave Bucky a headache. He might not be able to see them, but he could feel the sheer numbers of people around him, and for the first time he had the unpleasant sensation of claustrophobia in a city. 

The corridors and minimalist décor in the Tower set off bad associations in his brain. It was noisy too, creaking and cranking and clicking all hours of the day and night.

“How the hell did you live here, Steve?” Bucky complained on the third night of no sleep, and not for good reasons. 

“I didn’t have much choice,” Steve’s muffled response came from somewhere under a pillow, and carefully omitted the part where he had been far too ill to care about noise when even lightbulbs and breathing had caused him pain in those first weeks after the fight in DC. 

There was to be no respite during the day, either. All excursions outside the Tower were cancelled for the foreseeable future. No more walks, no more lunches with Sam. Steve went into a bracing and extremely irritating “making the best of it” mode which made Bucky want to crush things.

Bucky envied Thor’s freedom to just zap in and out as he pleased, riding the lightning to his own world. Nat, too, seemed to have itchy feet with her comings and goings seemingly a mystery to everyone. And usually when she did appear it was as the bearer of bad news.

+

“You’d have thought the government would have bigger problems,” Tony complained, glaring down at the offending item Nat had just chucked on the desk in front of him. At least she’d had the decency to cough as she entered the room this time.

Surprisingly it wasn’t a manila folder, but a newspaper – one of the tabloids that never seemed to have a good word to say about anyone. Today’s front page moan in big letters was the fact that the Avengers – unregulated body of vigilantes such as they were – had apparently allied themselves with the man behind the mask that had caused all the carnage in DC. 

“I mean, it’s not exactly playing fair, is it,” Tony stood up, pressing a button on his watch. “Ok everyone…” he looked around, trying to decide what he wanted. “Yes, everyone come here. I’m already here and so is Nat so the rest of you should be here. Now.”

Bruce was first to appear, being less than a floor away. He had a smudge of something on his shirt where he had been in the middle of an experiment. Pepper looked calm and unruffled as always, only a slight frown troubling her features as she entered the room. Clint was still eating what looked like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, completely unconcerned by the atmosphere of the room, and Steve and Bucky brought Sam with them who had been risking a visit to try to break up the boredom. Finally, there was an echo of thunder signalling Thor’s return. Steve picked up the paper, eyes narrowing at the gaudy headline.

“I don’t get it,” Bruce read over Steve’s shoulder. “It’s obvious that this has been leaked to the press, but why? If they know he’s in here, why broadcast it to the whole world? Why not just… walk through the front door?”

“My guess,” Nat broke in, “is that they really do think we have ‘recruited’ the Winter Soldier. Which means…”

“…Iron Man, the Hulk, Cap, an actual god AND the world’s deadliest assassin are all holed up in here waiting to kick their asses.” Tony patted his pockets for a snack, anything to do something with his hands. Then U gently butted his leg, packet in claw, and Tony took it gratefully.

“I also imagine they’ve been taking notes on how we dismantled SHIELD,” Nat continued, glancing over at Sam who had his arms folded, brow furrowed in thought. “I doubt they want to meet the same fate.”

It was sneaky, Tony thought. Clever, yes. But sneaky. By playing the media card, you turn the public and no one was going to care what happened next. The clean-up in DC was still ongoing, and finding out that Captain America and his friends have buddied up with the guy responsible was not going to win them many favours.

Looking through the article – if one could call it that – it didn’t seem to have occurred to anyone that missing POW James Barnes and terrifying assassin the Winter Soldier was one and the same person, despite both images being heavily circulated, as well as Steve’s committed involvement which was excessive even by Captain America standards. To the outside world – both the intelligence communities and everyone else - it appeared that for some reason the Avengers had gone on a recruitment drive. The government and whatever was left of SHIELD was under the impression that Stark and friends were out of their collective trees.

“How long before we get a torches and pitchforks mob outside the door?” Clint took over the paper from Steve who had gone a worrying shade of red.

“They’re already out there,” Steve finally found his voice, spitting each word, and Tony wondered whether Steve could actually hear them with those spooky vampire super-senses of his, or whether it was just a guess.

Tony pondered their next move. There was no question of them being under siege; the Tower was self-sufficient in terms of power, and there was more than enough supplies to keep even super-soldiers fed for over a year. And besides, Thor could hop in and out as he pleased.

“I say we leave them to it,” he said, affecting a look of boredom. Bruce sighed and took off his glasses.

“They’re not going to go away, Tony. It’s only going to get worse. Today it’s one paper but you know what they’re like…”

Yes, Tony did know what they were like. Not that it helped them much.

“So let’s call their bluff,” Steve had that look on his face, the one that suggested wrongs needed to be put right and he was just the one to do it. Tony braced himself.

“It wasn’t the recruitment of an asset,” Steve hissed the word like it tasted bad in his mouth, “it was the rescue of a prisoner of war – a man that a lot of very powerful people in high places knew about – an American war hero sacrificed for greed and politics. Put that out there and see which way the opinion polls swing.”

There was a pause as each considered the idea. Tony glanced round the room, reading the mood, before landing on Barnes who was sitting with his arms wrapped tightly around himself, like he’d rather be any place else. The eyes of the world were blinking in his direction, which was a daunting at the best of times. Barnes took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Worth a try I guess?”

+

Bucky thought it was a terrible idea. He left the finer details down to Pepper who seemed to have a flair for words that really got the point across (after all, she’d been handling Tony for long enough), and while he didn’t doubt her talents for a second, he still felt more than pessimistic about the whole thing. It seemed to him though that there were enemies at every turn, and the far more sensible thing, more than making speeches, would be to disappear completely.

“We could go to Europe,” he mused. “I liked Europe. Not sure how they’d take to you, though.” Steve looked over, eyebrows raised. “Well you’re not exactly subtle.”

South America was also tempting, with lots of space and places to just blend in. South also meant warmth, which Bucky knew would be attractive to both of them more than Northern Europe. 

“We don’t need to disappear,” Steve stated firmly, ignoring Bucky’s returning snort. Steve Rogers, unrealistic optimist as per usual. Never one for a plan, just leap in feet first and hoped it worked out in the end. Bucky liked plans. He liked to have several exits, and he had a feeling he’d need all the exits he could find after courting the attentions of the world like this.

At least there wasn’t going to be a press conference. Pepper issued a statement on behalf of the Avengers as a group, one that was brief but straightforward. It said that as part of their investigations into Hydra, the Avengers had uncovered evidence that during the Cold War an American prisoner of war had been tortured and forced to commit atrocities around the world, culminating in the events in D.C.

“Should put them on the back foot,” Clint had said, reading through the wording. Far from denying their association with “the masked man”, they confirmed it, and threw out their own counter-allegations. It was a conscious decision to leave Bucky’s name out of it for now, though both Tony and Nat were in agreement that someone somewhere was going to put everything together at some point, but they’d cross that bridge if and when they came to it.

The reaction was instantaneous and explosive, forming two clear lines; those who believed the Avengers and those who didn’t. Venom and support poured in as trial by public opinion got into full swing. Those who had delved the deepest into SHIELD’s leaked files crowed victoriously at the next instalment of the drama, providing even more fuel for internet conspiracy theories. There was a particularly loud out-pouring of scorn from a particular section of society who suspected the whole thing was the most outlandish pack of lies, and just the latest effort to get Stark and friends out of bearing responsibility for the destruction of public property.

“We were never going to get universal acceptance or approval, Buck,” Steve had tried to reassure him. But Bucky felt itchy, like a great spotlight was right overhead. The protestors were still outside, keeping both Bucky and Steve awake, even with Stark’s soundproofing modifications to their suite. They might not be able to hear them, but they both knew they were there all the same.

To some extent, the plan had worked; the media’s attention was now back on the government for an official response to yet more allegations and corruption. Before the end of the day there was a hastily prepared counterstatement being issued by a harried-looking guy in a suit. They refuted the claims completely, and defied the “so-called Avengers” to provide evidence to back up their allegations.

Bucky noticed Nat watching him during the afternoon briefing, making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck like she could read his mind (which she probably could). Yes he was absolutely considering running before this got any more out of control. But he wasn’t going anywhere without Steve. So he threw a pointed glance in Steve’s direction, whose attention was entirely consumed by what was happening on the screen at the front. When he glanced back at Nat, she nodded briefly and released him from her stare. She got it.

+

Things were starting to reach something of a head. The back and forth between the government and the Avengers becoming a captivating tennis match that invited commentary from all directions. Statement followed counter-statement. The internet was abuzz with theories and hashtags, each side becoming more vociferous and passionate. The media was similarly divided with its support and condemnation, and for a while it seemed like an unstoppable force had met an immovable object, with no sign of backing down from either side. 

Which was when someone finally put two and two together and came up with Bucky Barnes.

The internet had done itself proud. It wasn’t the most obvious connection to make - the grainy footage of a guy in leather and a mask compared with the smiling black and white photos taken off the Smithsonian website from the Captain America exhibition didn’t exactly lead to a damning conclusion. But someone had been scouring the casual snaps taken of Steve and his new friend shuttling from their apartment to the Tower in the months after the Potomac, and in one shot the guy’s jawline could clearly be seen under his baseball cap. There was just enough to cast the seed of an idea, and it took off like wildfire. Of *course* Steve Rogers had pulled helicarriers out of the sky; it was for James Buchanan Barnes.

The government was getting frustrated with the whole thing, and especially with this latest development. Even if there was any truth to what was being said (and everyone was uncomfortably aware that Rogers, for all his funny ideas, had a terrible knack for being obnoxiously right about these things) the proper investigations still needed to be made. 

Back at the Tower there were daily discussions about what would likely be their next move. It was becoming clear that it was just a matter of time before a subpoena was issued, and worryingly Steve seemed all for it. He wore what Tony called his “pout of righteousness” on pretty much a daily basis now. For him, it was crystal cut, and once he had explained about Bucky then everyone would see things his way and Bucky would be exonerated.

Tony wasn’t so sure of Barnes’s chances. There were a lot of gaps in the story, awkward gaps that were hard to explain. Just because _he_ had come to terms with the situation did not mean other victims or their families would be as understanding. Also the powers-that-be were desperate for a convenient scapegoat to chuck a very public book at, to get everyone settled and moving forward after an extremely turbulent couple of months. A visual culprit they could hang out to dry would be perfect. If only they could convince him and his guard dog to come out of the Tower…

So it wasn’t a complete surprise when an invitation was issued for an “informal hearing”, which was pitched as an opportunity for their side of the story to be heard, and for a few questions to be asked.

“Uh-huh, and then they’ll be asking you to try on these handcuffs to see if they’re your size!” Sam scoffed. 

“Handcuff,” Barnes corrected in a somewhat hollow voice. Steve set his jaw but didn’t say a word. The second to last paragraph had stated explicitly that they were both expected to arrive unarmed, and Tony had pointed out that they probably meant that quite literally. The metal arm had to go. To Steve, it was unthinkable, and he was not happy to find himself in the minority. Both Nat and Sam agreed it might be humanising and work in their favour. 

“Any other special requests?” Nat reached out for the letter that had arrived earlier that day. She skimmed down the seemingly innocuous document. “Maybe we should take Steve’s arm off just in the interests of being fair. Oh cheer up, Rogers,” she chided. “You and I both know it won’t make the blindest bit of difference.” She winked encouragingly at Bucky who was sitting very still in his seat staring at an invisible point in the middle of the table. Now that his name was out there, it felt like the net was closing, with his options becoming more and more limited.

“Well, I don’t like it,” Steve snorted. “And I don’t see what’s wrong with just going to go in there and telling the truth.” As though it was as simple as that. Bucky looked horrified at the very idea.

“Don’t,” he groaned, while Tony laughed, clapping his hands in fiendish delight.

“Oh no you should! I want to be in the front row when you tell the entire panel that you’re a vampire and Bucky is bonded to you.” Steve scowled at him.

“Maybe you should take a lawyer,” Pepper commented. “Just to cover ourselves and provide a bit of advice when it comes to answering their questions.” 

“We can’t put you out there on your own,” Nat considered, already planning ahead. “We’ll need a full schematic of the building and look into every single person who is going to be there. We’ll have people down in the street before you even get there. Clint will be positioned on the roof…”

“Man you’re crazy,” Sam stated, throwing his arms up. “I know you make a mean speech, Steve, but I don’t think you can talk your way out of this one.”

Bucky shook his head because it was like no one in this room had even picked up the book of Steve Rogers’s life, much less read it. Telling the guy “can’t” was like waving a red flag at a particularly enraged bull. You can’t join the army, you can’t go on a one-man rescue mission, you can’t stop Hydra by yourself… 

“It’s gonna be fine, Buck,” Steve had that look on his face again. The most dangerous thing about Steve Rogers, Bucky considered, was that he absolutely believed his own bullshit.

+

The panel hearing was set for a Thursday afternoon, and would be made up of seven people. Steve and Bucky would attend with one of Tony’s very expensive lawyers “in an advisory capacity”. Officially it would be an open panel, with journalists and interested parties able to sit in a special viewer’s gallery where they could hear the proceedings but could not be heard by the people below. Unofficially it was likely they were trying to form a basis to see what, if any, formal charges could be prepared. As such, the rest of the team were making a number of plans for a variety of scenarios. They didn’t necessarily think the government would try any funny business, not at this initial stage, but that didn’t mean they weren’t going to be prepared. 

As it was, they never got the chance to even set foot inside the building.

The footage of what happened would be scrutinised frame by frame over and over from every conceivable angle, and yet no one could quite agree on the order of things. Had Steve, sensing danger, moved to protect his friend? Or had it all just been one of those unfortunate moments, wrong place wrong time. Tony must have watched, rewound and re-watched those precious twelve seconds nearly a hundred times before Pepper dragged him away. 

It seemed like the whole nation was out in the streets, waiting for the arrival of Captain America in defence of the Winter Soldier. It was almost a festival atmosphere as people jostled to catch a glimpse of the man himself, and of the guy who was either a damaged survivor of unimaginable torture, or the greatest villain the world had ever known, depending on your point of view. There was security, of course – police officers up and down the barriers keeping an eye on the crowds – and Nat was positioned somewhere, eyes and ears on proceedings. Sam was up in the sky, studying the crowds, while Clint established himself on the rooftops.

Tony was in a car round the corner, all the information feeding back to him. He heard Clint’s muttered “here they come,” just as the car pulled up. After a few moments, Steve stepped out in a flattering blue suit. As the crowd pressed forward against the barriers, the volume rising, he turned to reach behind him. Bucky emerged, clean shaven and in a grey suit that seemed to bring out the shadows under his eyes. As promised, the arm had been removed, and Bucky had spent much of the day before in the gym getting used to walking in a straight line without the additional weight. Now he moved slowly, playing it up a little on Sam’s advice.

Nat had been right, of course. Even without the arm he was still dangerous, still had the training of the Winter Soldier. It wasn’t all about the arm, and these politicians were foolish to think he was. But right now, head down a little, walking slightly off centre with the arm of the suit jacket pinned up, he presented the perfect image of a veteran, which was just what they wanted.

One of the governors was standing on the steps ready to welcome them, frozen smile in place. It had been decided in advance that there would be an exchange of hand-shakes for the press, and then a relaxed walk together, all three of them, into the building. All very friendly, lots of smiles, before they got down to brass tacks. The lawyer was already waiting for them inside.

Tony heard a crackle from Nat’s comm, like she’d drawn a sharp breath, and then “oh… hang on, shit CLINT!” and then the unmistakable sound of shots. Two rounds, one after the other, with a slight pause between them. 

It took three viewings of the footage in slow motion for Tony to fully track the shooter in the crowd, situated amongst the throng of observers. Some nobody, a Hydra grunt, acting by himself who had already disappeared for questioning at the hands of the Black Widow, unlikely to be ever seen again. 

Steve had been half way up the steps, when he turned suddenly, as though leaning over to say something to the man beside him. And then the first shot. 

The shot was probably meant for Barnes, but it hit Steve in the back of the head, just above his ear. The second shot a few seconds later went through the back of Barnes’s suit and into Steve’s chest where Barnes was leaning over him. Barnes didn’t even seem to notice as the world descended into chaos around him, as the centre of his own world seemed to have just taken his last breath in Bucky’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so when Sarah first read this I got yelled at. A lot. Her exact words were "WHAT DID YOU DO"   
> And then Claire read it and she yelled even more. And then Sarah and Claire got together and decided to confiscate both Steve and Bucky from me for safe keeping.
> 
> There is another chapter - one last chapter - which I will post soon. 
> 
> SPOILERS  
> Steve and Bucky are "invited" to a hearing, and Steve is shot on the steps outside, bleeding out in Bucky's arms.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The image of the Winter Soldier cradling a lifeless Captain America wasn’t going to go away anytime soon._
> 
> Everyone deals with the aftermath of the shooting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone.
> 
> Ok so sorry not sorry for how the last chapter ended - full spoilers are in the end notes for anyone who needs to know what happens before reading.
> 
> Does everyone have enough blankets and kittens on standby?

The image of the Winter Soldier cradling a lifeless Captain America wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. Nat sighed as she flipped the first page of the report and threw it onto Stark’s ridiculous coffee table. In the wider scheme of things – and she hated that her mind automatically looked at the wider scheme of things, because this was _Steve, for fuck’s sake_ – it would pan out well for Bucky in the end. What sympathy there had been before would only increase. Not that it was any kind of comfort right now.

Of course the panel had been adjourned; no one could have justified attempting to continue, not with Steve Rogers’s blood still being washed off the steps outside, and with a loud and expanding group claiming that the whole thing had been a set up. After all, not that long ago Cap had brought down some very visible heads of Hydra – why wouldn’t they want such public revenge?

Whether there was any truth to the theories, Nat was still unsure. For now, a forty-eight hour reprieve had been announced, and public opinion was swerving violently in favour of James Barnes. 

“Officially, they’re going to announce that it’s not in the public interest to bring a case against you,” Natasha looked tired, the strain on her shoulders clear. She knew it would have been impossible for the government to have done anything else. America’s Greatest War Hero had just been murdered in broad daylight on their front door step. Ironically, in the eyes of the public, it had proved completely that everything Steve had been arguing – everything the Avengers had claimed – had been true after all. 

Bucky didn’t move, no indication that he had even heard her. He looked awful, skin pale and waxy. His gaze was a thousand miles away. The lawyer Stark had hired sat as impassive as ever, hands folded on his briefcase. 

“Unofficially,” she continued, “they want to court you into working for them sometime. Get you official paperwork and a training schedule, negotiate some sort of remuneration package…” The lawyer looked as though he wanted to interject, but then perhaps he remembered who he was in the room with; he may be a hot shot lawyer for Tony Stark, but this was the Black Widow and she was angry and sore and grieving right now. “The usual schtick.”

Bucky wasn’t interested in any of that. The bitterness in Natasha’s voice was clear as she continued.

“After the funeral, of course.”

“Of course,” he intoned.

+

Everyone thought Steve would sit back up, perhaps looking slightly dazed, maybe even chase after the guy who had taken a shot at him. Even the general public who didn’t know about the whole vampire hybrid thing knew he had definitely been shot before. Captain America was a legend who had punched Nazis, survived being frozen for seventy years, and regularly had buildings dropped on him. There was just no way a bullet could, well, kill him.

Even Bucky half expected Steve’s eyes to flutter open, to see that face grimace as he had done so often before at the itchy sting of a bullet passing through. But it wasn’t just a bullet, judging by the burning sensation Bucky could feel from the entry and exit wounds. Bucky knew that somewhere in the maintenance manual for the Winter Soldier was a whole chapter on asset control. It had proven very useful to his controllers that he had a peculiar sensitivity to silver, especially when he had shown signs of breaking his conditioning.

A silver bullet to the brain and another to the heart; not quite a wooden stake but apparently just as effective.

+

Bucky half expected Sam not to open the door to him. After all, it was his damn fault Steve was dead. But there was one last favour he needed to ask, and so he knocked and waited. And Sam welcomed him into his home.

It wasn’t just because they still wouldn’t let him have an arm. He probably could have carried Steve’s coffin with just the one, and he reckoned Stark might probably have built him one anyway because since when had he given a flying fuck about the government or any of their ordinances. But no one had seen Stark in days and Bucky understood that just fine.

The silence between Bucky and Sam was a sort of comfortable devastation, each understanding the other’s loss; or perhaps not understanding it, but appreciating it from their own grief. Bucky liked Sam’s place. It was real, with its gentle clutter, and the dust on the photos that told the story of a life lived here. It was the sort of home Bucky would have liked to have built with Steve once. 

“I can’t do it,” he croaked, voice almost failing him. “I mean, I probably could physically. But I can’t, you know?”

“I know,” Sam nodded, solemn. Bucky took a deep breath.

“Would you carry him for me?”

“Sure, man,” Sam’s reply came easy, like Bucky had asked him for a quarter, but they both knew how heavily this task rested between them, and Bucky was beyond grateful.

+

Nat had assured Bucky that Clint had his eye on Steve – both eyes, in fact, all through the prep and everything else. No one was going to whisk the body away for experiments or storage or anything else. The autopsy would be cursory, only to remove the bullets. No biopsies, no tests, no nothing. No one else was allowed to approach. The body had been cleaned and dressed, and now he was in the chapel of rest. That was where he would stay under Clint’s guard of honour, until the time came. 

Meanwhile people who had probably never even met Steve Rogers came up with the funeral arrangements, and Bucky found himself being swept along with it. Being Captain America - the Legend, the Myth - it would be nothing but the best, although Bucky didn’t think he was being unfairly cynical when he suggested they were probably recycling the plans from last time. After all, this wasn’t the first time Captain America had died. They were even reusing the gaudy necropolis Stark Senior had constructed in the fifties. 

Bucky had no idea how he was supposed to get through the day. He couldn’t feel anything, hadn’t been able to feel anything in days, apart from the very physical sensation of Steve’s blood on his hand which he couldn’t quite get rid of no matter how much he washed.

The casket, set upon the traditional limbers and caissons, led the procession followed by the traditional riderless horse. Mercifully someone had managed to talk the powers-that-be out of a full military parade and there was to be no rifle party. Bucky thanked his lucky stars because he wasn’t sure his nerves could take a three-volley salute.

Tony, having emerged from hiding, wore dark glasses and, in typical Stark fashion, he had abandoned the traditional black suit in favour of bright sky blue, with crisp white shirt and a bright Captain America tie. Bucky rather loved him for it. He knew Steve would have gotten a kick out of it, for sure. His car followed first, and Tony insisted that Bucky ride with him and Pepper. Sam marched with the casket alongside the other pall bearers, decked out in his full air force dress uniform.

Bucky remembered Steve’s Ma’s funeral. It had been such a quiet affair with only a few mourners. There had only just been enough money to pay the priest. Now the whole damn world was in mourning for her son. Bucky took a deep breath as the full weight of reality washed over him. 

The procession arrived at Arlington, and Tony and Pepper stepped out of the car. As the door opened, Bucky shrank back from the noise of the media calling out. It was a funeral, could these vultures not give them a break just for twenty minutes? For a moment he was back in the street with Steve, the crowds calling out, and the shooter making his way through the crowd. Bucky blinked, back in the cemetery, and Nat peering through the door at him. She held out her hand to him and he took it like the lifeline it was.

There were hundreds, maybe thousands of people there, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel lost. He felt sluggish and unprepared. For the first time in a long time he had no plan; he hadn’t scoped the area, he had no idea of the guest list. He felt completely out of control, which of course was when he spotted a familiar face.

Oh god. Peggy.

Still looking formidable and impeccably turned out, Peggy sat stoically in her chair as Sharon pushed her over the grass towards the ceremony. Bucky’s legs were moving before he realised it, and she gave him one of her devastating smiles as he approached which just wasn’t fair because he’d never deserved a single one of them.

“Oh James,” she greeted, as if she had last seen him only a few days before rather than a lifetime ago. She reached out a hand from where it had been tucked into a smart black muff on her lap. He reached down to kiss her cheek, feeling her kiss in turn. “It rather feels like I’ve done all this before.”

Bucky could just imagine the Peggy Carter he knew from the war at the original dedication of the monument, and how all this must seem like hideous déjà vu. How awful to go through it all again.

Bucky looked away, drawing a deep breath, and was immediately struck by how ridiculous this whole circus was. Row after row of politicians, senators and Heads of State stood around the gravesite. There was even a couple of the lesser royals from the UK, oh and of course the Russian ambassador, which made Bucky’s lip curl because there’s no way that arsehole didn’t know about him and the Red Room. Then the Secret Service started getting itchy and whispering into their sleeves which meant the President’s motorcade was inbound. Steve would have hated this so much.

Then he was being shuffled towards one of the chairs at the front, sat next to Peggy, with Nat, Tony and Pepper perched behind him. The chaplain came into view followed by the casket, Sam at the front on the left, eyes focussed straight ahead in concentration. Once the casket was in place, and the flag secured, Bucky sank down in his seat. Just the ceremony to go. He could do this.

He honestly didn’t hear a damn word the chaplain said. He was sure it was factually accurate according to the official records; where Steve was born, how he joined the army, and how he fought for his country (but missing out the part where no one ever said thank you). They also skimmed over just how Steve had died, choosing to dress it in metaphor where he “died as he lived - doing what he believed was right”. Bucky couldn’t wait for it to be over. They weren’t burying Steve Rogers, they were burying Captain America – an icon that only a handful of people here really knew. 

Peggy reached out to take his hand just before the benediction, her hand soft and comforting on his. He held onto it as they stood for the honours, even Peggy insisting on rising to her feet as the Taps were played by the forlorn bugle, echoing across the cemetery.

Then the flag was being folded. It was over. The casket would be interred in the necropolis and that would be that. Everyone else could go back to normal and Bucky could, well. Bucky could disappear.

“Did you know him very well?” Bucky turned back, confused by the question Peggy had just asked him. Her eyes were a little less bright than they had been a moment ago, and her expression was polite and formal, as though addressing someone she was not familiar with. Behind her, Sharon coughed, making a gesture with her hand.

“Uh, time to go, Aunt Peggy,” she said brightly, trying to communicate with her eyes. And Bucky understood, and he nodded. 

“It was very nice to meet you,” he said softly, and Peggy smiled up at him with the eyes of a stranger.

“Well, it was very nice to meet you too, young man.”

He watched as Sharon wheeled her away, back to the hospital. For a moment he considered just leaving there and then, when he was startled by a polite cough behind him.

Sam stood there, head up and shoulders back, the very image of a professional military man. He held out the folded flag in his hands.

“The flag, sir,” Sam’s voice was all business, but Bucky couldn’t meet his eyes. He reached out automatically to take it, and just stared as Sam saluted him as the official next of kin. Behind him was one of the Arlington Ladies, ready with her card of condolence, and it really was all too much. 

He shut down completely, nodding his head politely through the rest of the ceremony but unable to say anything more than the occasional “thank you” as person after person came to pay their official respects and give condolence. When Nat retrieved him and began to lead him back to Tony’s car, a plan had already formed in his mind.

+

Steve had already proved that super soldiers were not indestructible, and if the recent efforts by Bruce and Tony had shown anything, it was that Bucky’s serum and everything else floating round his bloodstream was nowhere near as refined as what Steve’s had been. So technically putting himself down should be even easier.

He had thought about a bullet, simple and efficient, but if he went for a shot through the heart like Steve he wouldn’t want to miss, and he couldn’t count on a headshot being enough. There was also the added problem of obtaining silver bullets – not exactly something you could pick up at Walmart.

But surprisingly the answer had come to him from something Steve had said to him during the war. Snake venom was also not something easily picked up from the corner shop, but ten minutes on google gave him the answers he needed, and it was definitely easier than silver bullets. He could put together a cocktail of stuff that would put him down for good, turning his blood into jelly, serum or no serum.

After the funeral Tony, Pepper and everyone else was planning to return to New York for a private wake. Bucky declined the invitation. He shook Tony’s hand, thanking him for everything but that he was going to stick around here for a while to spend more time with Peggy. If Tony picked up on this total lie he didn’t call Bucky out on it. Just clapped him on the arm and told Bucky to stay in touch.

Bucky went to ground for forty-eight hours. In an ideal world he wouldn’t delay, but he imagined there would be a fair number of people around the cemetery in the wake of one of the highest profile burials in recent memory. He didn’t want to mess up, and the extra time allowed him to plan down to the finest detail, mapping out the whole location in his mind, along with his planned point of entry, as well as possible back-up plans. 

As it was, when he returned the following night there were still mourners holding vigil outside the gates with candles, flowers and photos, and even the occasional vintage comic book left resting against the fence. Bucky in his dark blue hoody blended right in as he walked along the path by the entrance, continuing right round the perimeter out of sight to a place where he could easily vault the fence. 

He wasn’t entirely surprised to see Nat standing almost casually next to Steve’s mausoleum. Bucky didn’t even falter in his steps, continuing to walk steadily towards her. In the shadows she just stared at him, face unreadable. 

“I’m not here to stop you,” she said at last. Bucky nodded. “I wondered if you were being like a cat.”

“Excuse me?” Bucky definitely hadn’t expected her to say that. She smiled at him sadly.

“You know how cats take themselves off when they’re in pain or they know they’re dying? I know you and Steve have this… connection. I just wondered,” she shrugged, looking away like she didn’t really care either way. She was a good actor, hell she was a Widow trained in the Red Room. But Bucky could see her clearly all the same.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I can’t feel anything, other than the urge to be not here anymore. Maybe its Thor’s bond, or Tony’s virus. Maybe it’s just that he’s all I ever had and I’m tired and I just don’t want to do this anymore. Not without him.”

Nat swallowed, nodding her head stiffly just once. “The way it’s always been,” she stated simply. “The pair of you following each other in circles, each thinking the other in the lead. You boys.”

Bucky’s eyes stung because it was true. When she reached out to hug him, he returned it with feeling, knowing it to be more for Steve than for him. He knew it wasn’t easy for her to let people in, especially people like Steve. 

“Be a friend, Nat,” he murmured as they broke apart. “Just shut the door behind me ok. Bury the Winter Soldier with Captain America.”

Nat nodded her promise, and so Bucky pulled open the door with ease and disappeared from sight.

+

Inside was small, with a little stone altar set with an eternal flame burning by a stained glass window. Under the altar was a stone that Bucky was able to shift quite easily, even with just the one arm, revealing a couple of stone steps down to the crypt. The air was blissfully cool, and he thought it wouldn’t be a bad place to spend eternity. 

Sitting there in the darkness just by the head of the casket, Bucky felt more settled that he had done in days. He stripped off the hoodie, folding it up neatly and setting it down before reaching into his pocket for the needle and vial he knew was there waiting for him. And that’s when he heard it.

A thump, familiar and friendly echoing in his ears. He froze, straining to hear anything else, but there was nothing but silence. Bucky held his breath, counting to ten in his head, and then ten again, and then once more. He had just decided he had imagined it, that his brain was playing tricks on him, when he heard it again.

Ba-boom.

Bucky would know that sound anywhere. Quickly, he started to twist at the fixtures, one after another, loosening them so he could lift the lid. Some genius, probably Stark, had chosen a solid bronze casket so it wasn’t as though Bucky could just rip it open like he could have with wood. As he reached the sixth screw, he heard the beat again, and maybe it was wishful thinking on his part but it sounded stronger now.

Steve’s heart was beating. Slowly, one beat every thirty seconds or so, but beating nonetheless.

The top half of the casket lid finally shifted and Bucky opened it a touch too enthusiastically, banging it against the ceiling of the vault. Steve looked peaceful; someone had fixed his hair so that it resembled one of his photos from the war. Bucky reached out tentatively, brushing the blonde locks by his ear, revealing the bullet wound which was now nothing more than a shiny scab of new skin. Bucky swore. He knew that the bullets had been removed for forensic purposes, but he had never thought… 

“Come on Stevie,” he murmured, as he heard Steve’s heart take another beat. He pulled at the buttons on the dress uniform, stripping him down to skin. The Y incision from the cursory autopsy had all but healed, the stitch thread sitting on the skin where Steve’s healing body had rejected it. Bucky rested his hand over the second bullet hole. Originally he’d had a matching wound on his right side, but it had long since disappeared. He hadn’t even been aware it had nicked his lung until Stark had insisted on doing an ultrasound, seeing as no way in hell was Bucky going to agree to an MRI. 

Both Pepper and Nat had sat with him, having been told that an autopsy would be necessary, as well as a legal requirement. He’d braced himself for the worst, but the fact that he hadn’t felt a damn thing had just been further proof that it really was over, and nothing connected them anymore. Now he stared down at Steve’s chest, fingers tracing lightly at the skin. How often had it been this way? Steve lying prone while Bucky sat above him, begging him to breathe? 

For a hysterical moment, Bucky imagined they were back in 1940; it was dark because the power was out, and it was always cold in their apartment because they were dirt poor and the landlord was a mean scrounger who never turned on the boiler in the basement when he should. And it was ok, Bucky didn’t have to go to work because it was Sunday, so he could stay there all day and all night, holding Steve’s hand and begging him to live.

Bucky remembered what it had been like coming back from basic training, finding Steve in bed in one hell of a state. He had been scared to death, no sign of…well, certainly not life. But no sign of anything from Steve’s tiny body.

Hit with sudden inspiration, Bucky seized the needle, discarding the vial and ignoring how it smashed on the floor. He stabbed viciously at his thumb, because Steve’s system was trying so hard by itself, and now Bucky could help. He squeezed his thumb, letting a few drops of blood fall into Steve’s mouth. It wasn’t much, but if that Bruce guy was right, then it would be enough. Bucky sucked his own thumb, eyes fixed on the man lying stone still before him.

“You got blood pumping, Steve,” Bucky encouraged, his confidence increasing along with the frequency of Steve’s heartbeats. He’d been sitting there for at least fifteen minutes, keeping count. “Now take a breath.”

It took another five minutes, but it finally happened. As if he could hear Bucky’s prayers, Steve inhaled. Bucky’s vision blurred with tears because Steve was breathing, his body trying so hard. 

“Come on, Stevie,” Bucky felt helpless, impatient for Steve to open his eyes. With blood and oxygen, Steve began to feel warm under Bucky’s hand. Bucky imagined the serum taking over, repairing what it hadn’t had the chance to repair before. Whatever part of Steve that remained vampire had carried him to that point, and now both life forces were working in tandem to bring Steve Rogers back.

A second breath was followed by a third, slow and guttural. Bucky almost laughed at the familiar wheeze of lungs working hard, a sound he hadn’t heard in decades and one he never thought he’d miss. Steve was almost pink now, and Bucky couldn’t help but lean down to kiss him, just once. 

In a perfect world, Steve would have opened his eyes there and then, restored to health by love’s true kiss. As it was, Bucky had to wait almost another full half hour before Steve’s forehead crinkled in a grimace and his fingers twitched. 

“Ow,” Steve groaned, before scrunching up his eyes and peering up to where Bucky was standing over him. “Anyone get his licence number?”

“You punk,” Bucky croaked, hauling him up into an awkward hug, not easy with just the one arm and a super-soldier still half asleep.

“Oh god,” Steve mumbled into Bucky’s neck, hands stiff as they tried to get a grip and his fingers still not quite responding. “What did I do?”

Bucky let go with everything he had been holding on to. “You died on me again, you complete… I swear to god, Rogers.” Bucky could only hold him tight, eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to risk the ghost in his arms fading away in front of him. They stayed like that for a while, just breathing in sync.

“Thanks for coming to get me, Buck,” Steve kissed him gently. Bucky shook his head, but kissed him back. He should have known better, he should have guessed. Anyway, it didn’t matter now.

“Oh man, is this a crypt?” Steve climbed gingerly out of the casket, observing his surroundings. He grimaced at his outfit, making Bucky smile. Steve always had felt vaguely ridiculous, like an impostor, when dressed in his full regalia. He offered up the hoodie on the floor and Steve took it gratefully.

“Your funeral was worse,” Bucky teased, somewhat remorselessly. “Even the president came.”

“Ugh, glad I wasn’t there for that,” Steve grinned at him before glaring at his shoes. “Seriously, I hope we don’t have to run because these are definitely going to fall off otherwise.”

They could sort that out later. New clothes, get some food… they could do whatever they wanted.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky suddenly thought of something. “Captain America is dead.” Steve gave him a puzzled look, a little slow on the uptake. Bucky just grinned at him. 

“What do you say Steve Rogers and his buddy James Barnes go on holiday some place? I hear Curieuse is very nice this time of year.”

“You mean leave?” Bucky stared at him, gaze unflinching. If Steve said no now, if he said that they should go back, and make their awkward explanations to everyone then of course Bucky would follow him. Always.

“Ok, Buck.” Steve exhaled. “Lead the way.”

They closed the casket, and moved the stone back over the staircase to the crypt. In another moment they were creeping across the cemetery back towards the fence. They had no plan, and no resources, but they had each other and that was all they’d ever needed really.

From the shadows, Nat watched them go, feeling deeply satisfied. She waited until they were out of sight before setting the memorial flowers back over the entrance to the mausoleum. Then she turned and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS  
> Well of course he's not dead! feel better? This is a comic fic, no one dies (not on my watch). So now you can sit back and read the chapter safe in the knowledge that there's a happy ever after waiting for you :)
> 
>  
> 
> WELL  
> I can't believe I finished. I started this fic in 2015 - feels like a hundred years ago. Thank you to everyone for reading - all the lovely folks for your comments. I probably would not have finished this fic without you. Also to my cheerleader and proof-reader Claire. i feed off your tears and screams ;-p
> 
> All my love and gratitude to Sarah. She knows why x

**Author's Note:**

> All my thanks to Sarah who has let me witter on about this for quite a while now and has read through quite a few passages for me - thank you x
> 
> I have most of this written and it's going to go all the way through TFA on to WS. I'll be updating quite regularly (I hope) and if you have any questions or anything I can be found on tumblr as lynchy8.


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